Dux Dolosus
by JK Ashavah
Summary: UPDATED (August 20)! When you're 17, the world is at your feet. That is, until you get swept up into the cutthroat world of Malfoys, Death Eater politics and the Dark Lord's dominion, where any mistake could be your last. NOW RATED R.
1. The Potions Master

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the characters, places or situations of the Harry Potter universe, they belong to that wonderful woman J. K. Rowling, Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books and Bloomsbury Publishing Plc.

I am making no money and intend no copyright infringement. I'm only playing!

The quote at the start of the chapter is from: Rowling, J. K., Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, Bloomsbury Publishing Plc, 1998, pg. 61 (Australian version).

I don't own Merlin Talisen. She is on permanent loan from my sister TQ, to whom I owe so much ... without her willingness to act out scenes and talk for hours about fanfiction, who knows where I would be.

**Rating and Warning: **R for severe angst, darkness, drug use, and suicide themes in later chapters. R is probably over-rating it, but I want to be safe. 

**Author's Note:** First of all, I have no idea where Antony came from. He just walked straight into my fic about Harry's fifth year, in a similar way to that in which Faramir walked into the glades of Ithilien in _The Lord of The Rings_. I came to like Antony, and I wanted to write about him. This will have spoilers for the sequels of "The Secret of the Founders' Four".

Thanks to Jenavira for finding me the quote for this chapter when my copy of Chamber of Secrets was Absent With Out Leave, TQ for helping Antony get to where he is today, and Queen of the World, Mirror of Erised, Beth Brownell, EJ Malfoy, Elanor Gamgee, and Pheonixx for all your help.

I would like to dedicate this chapter to The Cynic, whose appreciation of this fic made me decide to post it here before I otherwise would have. Thank you for your encouragement. I am indebted to you.  
  


Dux Dolosus

By: JK

**Chapter One: The Potions Master**

_"There's an empty chair at the staff table ... where's Snape?"   
_Harry Potter, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

The sun rose over Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, signalling the start of what should have been a lazy, relaxing winter Sunday, a chance for the students to unwind between the excitement of the Hogsmeade visit the previous day and the inevitable return to classes on Monday.

As the students drifted into the Great Hall, yawning sleepily, they noticed several small things. First of all, the Head Table was several staff members short. Professors Snape, McGonagall and Dumbledore were all missing. This caused no more concern than a few raised eyebrows - with the uncertainty caused by Dumbledore's conviction that Lord Voldemort had risen again, such absences were not uncommon.

However, the Prefects from Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were standing in a huddle near the doors into the hall, whispering worriedly, whilst eying the doorway; their Slytherin counterparts sat together at one end of their table, muttering darkly to each other. Several students slowed as they walked past the huddles, hoping to catch a snippet of what was concerning the prefects so, but to no avail.

The Head Boy and Girl stood at the front of the hall in a strangely stiff way. Occasionally one or the other of them would make their way towards the huddle of Prefects, exchange some brief, terse words, and return to their spot near the Head Table. The Slytherin Head Boy's stony expression was strangely still, as if it were fixed to his face.

These strange events sowed seeds of uncertainty and doubt in the minds of the students, and with the gossip flying around the hall, the seeds flourished.

Finally, Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore entered the hall, both looking grave. Dumbledore took his place at the Head Table. The Head Boy and Girl turned to him respectfully, and slowly the chatter in the Hall died down. The heads of all the students turned, eyes trained eagerly on Dumbledore, waiting for news of this disturbance.

Dumbledore raised his arms.

"Do not be concerned," he said slowly and reassuringly. His words caused many students to shoot uncertain glances at each other. "There is simply a minor administrative problem, caused by the sudden illness of one of the members of the staff." Whispers sprang up all over the hall. They spread as only gossip can, and had quickly reached every corner of the hall. Dumbledore cleared his throat, and the hissing sound died down quickly. "If I could see the prefects, Head Boy and Head Girl in my office when they have finished eating, I will explain the situation to them."

With that, he exited the hall, an outburst of chattering from every side following him as he walked out the door. He sighed, shook his head slightly and climbed the many staircases that led to his office. He took a seat at his desk, glancing around as if he had been hoping for something to have arrived while he was gone. His eyes fell on a roll of parchment, which he opened and read, a smile creeping across his face behind his beard.

"Yes," he said softly to himself, tapping the surface of his desk. He rolled up the piece of parchment and placed it in a drawer. Fawkes the phoenix studied him intelligently. Dumbledore smiled. "She is coming."

*******

Later that day, the prefects poured out of Dumbledore's office, whispering excitedly.

"I can't believe our luck!" Harry Potter exclaimed, grinning. His friend Hermione Granger gave him a reprimanding look. "Come on, Hermione, you didn't like him either!" Harry said. "He was always taking points off Gryffindor!"

"I don't think anyone liked him," Justin Finch-Fletchley added. "I certainly didn't."

The other prefects nodded in agreement.

"The only ones who liked him were Malfoy and the Slytherins," said a sixth year Ravenclaw, glancing around hurriedly as she did so to check that no Slytherins were in sight. Draco Malfoy seemed to have led his house mates down a different corridor from the other prefects. The Ravenclaw looked relieved. " I mean, he was their Head of House and everything. They were the only ones who liked him. Right, Julia?"

Julia, a sixth-year Gryffindor girl, nodded. "Which, of course," she added, "means," she lowered her voice dramatically, "Himself." The capital letter she gave the word could easily be heard, and a hush fell over the group. Its members looked uncertainly at each other.

"Who?" Hannah Abbott asked eagerly, surveying the faces of the older prefects. Julia rolled her eyes at the ceiling.

"The Head Boy."

"Julia, you're just mad at him because he took points off you!" her male counterpart said jokingly.

"No, I'm not, Robert!" Julia shot back. "I hate him!" She looked at the older prefects as if searching for support. The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws looked at each other, then nodded slowly. "I mean," Julia continued. "You," she said, shooting a glare at Robert, "didn't have to work with him last year. He's horrible."

"No-one who has Draco Malfoy following him around like a fawning puppy dog can be any good," one of the Hufflepuffs said. The other prefects nodded in agreement, except Hermione and Robert.

"But, if Dumbledore made him Head Boy, there must be a reason!" Hermione exclaimed. "Don't judge him so quickly!" Julia rolled her eyes at the ceiling.

"Hermione, you can be so naive!" she told the younger girl. Hermione opened her mouth angrily, but Robert interjected.

"She has a point, Julia." Julia turned to glare at him.

"You," she said, pointing an accusing finger at him, "didn't have to work with him all last year! I did, and so did Sandy, Alvin, Alastair and Sylvia!" She indicated each prefect as she said their name. Sylvia, the Ravenclaw, nodded her agreement.

"Julia's right, Robert. He's horrible to work with. I can't believe you haven't figured that out after three months!" She paused, looking around. "He's conceited, arrogant, snobbish and he thinks anyone with blood less pure than his is an inferior form of life!" Robert grinned at her.

"Get out of it, Sylvia!" he said in a good-natured way. Her jaw dropped, and she shook her head disbelievingly.

"Robert, it's true!" Alastair, the other Ravenclaw sixth year added. "Look at how Draco Malfoy is at his beck and call. I'm surprised Dumbledore even let him into the school, let alone gave him a Head Boy badge."

"Why?" Hermione asked, surprised.

"Don't tell me you don't know, Hermione," Alastair said, grinning at her. "Some piece of information you haven't read?" Hermione paused for a moment, her mouth open in indignation, then glared, and began to speak, but Alastair interrupted before she could say anything. "I'm just kidding, Hermione. But didn't you know?" He dropped his voice and spoke in a conspiratorial tone, so the others had to lean close to him to hear what he said. "His father was a Death Eater," he said with a flourish. The younger prefects gasped, except for Hermione and Harry.

"So?" Hermione asked, obviously unconvinced. "That doesn't mean anything." She exchanged a glance with Harry. His expression said that he agreed with her. It looked like he was remembering his run-in at the end of the previous year with the Death Eater son of a Ministry official.

Alastair and Julia sighed.

"Just look at his personality, Hermione!" Julia exclaimed. "He's such a snob, he's always ready with an acid remark, he's secretive, cunning, scheming, and he fits right in with the ideals of Slytherin house."

"In short," someone interjected, "he's the perfect Slytherin."

"I couldn't have said it better," Julia said, nodding emphatically. Alastair, Sandy and Alvin agreed.

"Plus, he has the perfect Death Eater pedigree," the same voice continued nastily. All the sixth years nodded. "I'd be surprised if he didn't become a Death Eater."

"Exactly!" Julia crowed. "At least someone agrees with me ..."

Her jubilance faded, and she studied the expressions of the other prefects, realisation slowly creeping across her face. She gulped.

"Umm ..." She cleared her throat nervously. Who said that?" she asked tentatively. She looked terrified.

"Me," said a cold voice from behind her. She spun around, stepping backwards, and her hands flew to her mouth. A strangled exclamation escaped her throat, and the terror in her eyes was obvious.

A moment later, the reason for her horror was made clear to all the prefects. As the speaker steeped into the middle of the group, Alastair, Sandy and Alvin gave similar startled exclamations to Julia's, and fidgeted nervously under the acid gaze of the boy in their midst. The Head Boy.

"Professor Dumbledore told you to go inform your respective Houses of the reason behind the absence of Professor Snape," he said coldly. His fury was plain in his voice, and his pale blue eyes glinted maliciously. "Not," he continued, his voice as cold and dangerous as a snake's hiss, "to stand around in the corridors gossiping idly and blocking the passage of your fellow students. I make that twenty points each from Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. Now, get out of the way and let us through." He nodded his head at the Head Girl, who was standing behind Julia with a pained, sympathetic expression on her face as she studied the prefects.

"Go on!" the Head Boy ordered. The prefects turned and hurried off.

"See?" Julia hissed under her breath at the others. "He's an evil sadist!"

The other prefects exchanged glances, and it looked like every one of them agreed with Julia.

***

Raylene Faulkner, Ravenclaw and Head Girl, gazed at the retreating backs of the prefects, shaking her head slowly. The Head Boy didn't seem to notice her, and she sighed. She had heard the Gryffindor prefect's parting words, and she could see from the expression on her companion's face that he had too. Although she couldn't see if the girls' remark had hurt him or not.

"Come, Raylene. We are supposed to be at the door already." With that, he strode ahead of her. Raylene gave an exasperated sigh.

"I'm coming, Antony." _Why do I bother trying to work with him?_ she wondered as she jogged to catch up with him. _He's demanding, egocentric, and has a nasty sadistic streak. In other words, as he said, he's the perfect Slytherin._

She shook her head, unable to comprehend Antony and catch up with him at the same time. Rolling her eyes at the ceiling, she finally managed to reach his side.

"Will you slow down?" she panted. He shot her a cold, penetrating stare and slowed his pace fractionally. _Yeah, thanks._

Antony and Raylene strode together down the marble staircase and into the Entrance Hall. There were several small groups of students gathered there, probably, Raylene decided, to try and glean some snippets of information about Professor Snape's disappearance.

She had an idea that Antony knew more about Professor Snape's whereabouts than she did. She also knew that it would not be a good idea to ask him. Whatever it was, she supposed, if Dumbledore was content, that was all that mattered to her. Besides, it was never a good idea to become too curious when around Antony, lest he fix her with a glacial stare.

The official story behind Snape's disappearance was that he had suddenly fallen ill and had to leave. The story didn't ring true to Raylene however; he had vanished in the middle of a school trip to Hogsmeade, and he had been fine that morning. Snape had been deep in discussion with Antony as Raylene had left the castle that morning, and neither of them had looked happy. What the trouble had been, she could not tell or even begin to guess.

Her thoughts were brought to an end as Antony hauled on the doors. They opened, and the two seventh years walked out into the weak sunshine of the cool December day. Antony folded his arms across his chest and walked down to the edge of the lake, where he stood looking out over the Forbidden Forest. Raylene did not join him, but instead chose to wait by the doors.

They had been sent by Dumbledore to greet Professor Snape's replacement as Potions Master. The new Head of Slytherin would not be the new Potions Master. Antony had seemed irritated at that - the role of Head of Slytherin had gone to the Potions Master for many years.

Instead, the new Head of Slytherin would be Professor Vellian, of the Astronomy department. Raylene couldn't see why Antony objected - Vellian always seemed to her to be a perfectly competent teacher. Maybe he wasn't as like the perfect Slytherin as he had to be to pass inspection from the Head Boy.

Why could she not find it in her to hate Antony? That was the question which had been burning in her mind since they had started to work together as Head Boy and Girl. He was everything she hated - arrogant, cruel - even, some people might say, evil. Yet still, she couldn't hate him. She kept searching for some good quality, some reason to not hate him. She certainly couldn't like the person he was. _Always so cold and emotionless. I wonder what he feels. I know he must have emotion somewhere, but he hides it so well._

Raylene shook her head, giving up. Antony turned to look at her, as if he could feel that she had been watching him.

"I think our new Professor is coming," he said simply, walking over to where Raylene stood. She craned her neck, and sure enough, two figures were approaching.

One of them she recognised instantly as Hagrid. The other was much smaller, probably about average height. As they drew closer, Raylene could see that the unfamiliar figure was that of a woman.

She shot a glance at Antony to see what he thought of this, but his face was blank. He was watching the approaching figures intently. It was as if he could see something that Raylene could not.

Finally, Hagrid and the woman drew close enough for Raylene to see their new Potions Master closely. She studied the woman closely. The professor was slender, and her green robe set off the colour of her eyes. Her long hair was dark, and was braided around her head in an intricate coronet. It caught a ray of the morning sun, and Raylene saw that it was not black, as she had first thought, but was instead a deep, dark mahogany.

"And here's our Head Boy an' Girl to meet ye, Professor," Hagrid said. "I'd best be off."  
With that he turned, leaving the new Potions Master alone with Raylene and Antony. She didn't seem at all perturbed by the Head Boy's hostile gaze, instead she smiled at the two of them and put down the bag she was carrying to offer them her hand.

"Top of the mornin' to you," she said, and Raylene was surprised to hear a gentle, Irish voice. She wasn't sure what she was expecting, but that wasn't it. Antony took in the woman's words without so much as the flicker of an eyelid. "I'm the new Potions Professor," she continued, obviously trying to get some reaction from the two seventh years. "Professor ..."

"Merlin Talisen," Antony interrupted in a chilly voice. Raylene spun to look at him, bewildered. _How did he know that?_ For she could tell from the new professor's expression that Antony was right.

"Oh," the woman said, frowning slightly. "So Dumbledore told you." She was scrutinising Antony's face in a way that made Raylene wonder if the two had met before. _No, they can't have. She wouldn't have asked if Dumbledore told us about her if they'd met before._

"No," Antony said coolly, his face emotionless. "I recognised you." Raylene frowned, shooting glances from Antony to Professor Talisen. The Head Boy's expression was unreadable. He kept his face blank and cold, but Raylene could see him studying the professor.

Professor Talisen frowned, her green eyes thoughtful.

"I don't ... recall ... ever having met you," she said slowly. Her moment of hesitation made Raylene wonder if perhaps the professor did not really agree with her own words; she seemed to be searching her memory for any recollection of the boy.

"It was a photograph," Antony replied curtly. His tone made Raylene start. He had been looking straight into Professor Talisen's eyes, but he spoke quickly and his demeanour changed fractionally. Raylene had a sudden feeling that he was lying.  
  
"By the Saints!" the professor exclaimed, rolling her eyes heavenward. "Can't a woman keep out of the media spotlight for a single moment?" Her tone was irritable, and Raylene guessed that Antony's words had struck a nerve somewhere. She turned her eyes to the Head Boy.

"It wasn't the media," he replied coolly. This simple statement had an amazing effect. The tone of his voice was challenging, and Raylene saw Professor Talisen sharply turn her gaze to Antony's, trying to interpret his meaning.

His eyes were narrowed, and he was standing at his full height, which was greater than the professor's. It seemed to Raylene that he was trying to be intimidating. It didn't look like it was working.

_What's he playing at? _she wondered to herself. _Does he honestly think he can frighten a teacher?_

There was a silence as Antony and Professor Talisen studied each other. Each moment seemed an eternity to Raylene, waiting for someone to say something.

"We weren't introduced," she finally said desperately, trying to defuse the situation before anything could happen to heighten the feelings of hostility in the air. "I'm Raylene Faulkner of Ravenclaw," she continued, offering her hand to Professor Talisen, "and this is ..."

"Antony Bond, Slytherin," Antony interrupted coldly, his gaze fixed on Professor Talisen's. Raylene had the feeling that he had thrown down some sort of gauntlet, challenging the professor to act, making it her move.

Professor Talisen arched an eyebrow, letting her breath whistle gently through her lips as she exhaled.

"So," she said thoughtfully. "Antony Bond, is it?" She narrowed her eyes. She seemed to be judging Antony somehow. Raylene couldn't see why his name was so important.

"Yes, Professor," Antony replied, his tone hostile. Raylene was reminded of a tough youth saying "what's it to ya?" in imitation of American Muggle television shows. She could sense the battle of wills going on between Antony and Professor Talisen, but was unable to tell who was winning. Something was going on underneath the words they spoke, but she could not tell what.

"That explains a lot," the professor said under her breath. Raylene glanced at Antony to see if he had heard her, but his face showed only the hostility he had been displaying.

"Shall we go in?" Raylene asked, in what she knew would be a futile attempt to ease the tension in the air. "Professor Dumbledore's waiting for us."

Antony nodded curtly, turning in a swirl of long black robes, and strode towards the castle, flinging open the doors before him and sweeping across the Entrance Hall. Raylene picked up Professor Talisen's bag, receiving a grateful nod for her effort, and followed him into the castle.

"Impossible. There's no other word for him," she muttered as she hauled the professor's bag through the doorway, shaking her head slowly. Professor Talisen sighed, and Raylene could tell from the expression on her face that she agreed totally.

*******


	2. The Perfect Slytherin

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the people, places, or situations of the Harry Potter universe, nor do I claim to. They belong to J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing Plc, Scholastic Books, and AOL Time Warner. I am making no money. The quote belongs to Darren Hayes and Daniel Jones, and can be found in the song Hold Me, on the Savage Garden album Affirmation, released in 2000.

Merlin Talisen, the theory of the Merlin, and the druidic lore mentioned belong to TQ, who has kindly given me permission to use them.

**Chapter Two: The Perfect Slytherin**

_"I'm willing to do anything to calm this storm in my heart."_

Savage Garden, Hold Me

Raylene gazed idly around the inside of Dumbledore's office as she waited for the start of another Prefects' meeting early on Monday morning. The sun filtered lazily through the window that overlooked the grounds, glinting mysteriously from the numerous silvery devices around the room.

She couldn't help noticing that, of the eighteen students supposed to be present at such meetings, only thirteen were there. It did not surprise her when she realised who the five absentees were - Pansy Parkinson, Hypatia Bertram, Claude Chauncey, Draco Malfoy, and, of course, the Head Boy himself. One Slytherin could not be late without keeping all five of them away. Raylene rolled her eyes in disgust.

Dumbledore entered, glanced around the room, sighed sharply, and took a seat at his desk. He rested his elbows on his desk and placed his hands together in a reflective way, obviously waiting for the absent Slytherins.

The company assembled in the room waited a further five minutes before the door opened and Pansy walked slowly in, followed by a slinking Hypatia, striding Claude, and swaggering Draco. The four Slytherins took places in the gathering; Raylene was highly displeased to see Draco sit next to her. She refrained from speaking, instead turning to Sylvia, who sat beside her. Her pointed way of ignoring the Slytherin fifth year did not seem to perturb him at all; in fact, he was probably happier without her looking at him.

It was a full minute later when Antony finally sauntered into the room. His pace and stance were, at first glance, lazy, but Raylene recognised his true attitude as he halted in front of Dumbledore

"I'm pleased you could join us, Mr Bond," the headmaster said in a tone that seemed light, but which Raylene suspected held undertones of irritation and scolding.

"With all due _respect_, professor, I offer my sincerest apologies," Antony replied, his tone indicating that no respect was due, and therefore, none was given. Raylene frowned, wondering how Dumbledore could stand such audacity.

He either missed Antony's tone or chose to ignore it, for he nodded at the Head Boy, indicating with one hand that he should take a seat. A simple look from Antony unseated Draco, who leapt from the chair and instantly hurried to stand behind it. The older boy made his way to his place beside Raylene with the same attitude she had recognised in his saunter earlier.

Before she could say anything to him, Sylvia snorted in disgust.

"Tardy _and_ insolent. You're doing well today," she said, contempt plain in her voice, even as she spoke Raylene's very thoughts.

"I always aim to please," Antony replied coldly, his words making Sylvia snort once again, this time in disbelief.

Dumbledore let out a small cough. Sylvia turned to him, smiling pleasantly, as did most of the other Prefects.

"In light of recent events," Dumbledore began in a sombre tone, and immediately the full attention of everyone in the room was on him, for they all knew to which events he was referrring. "I feel it is necessary to commence an enhancement of Hogwarts's protection." Raylene nodded a silent agreement, feeling a sadness sweep over her as she did so. There was now an empty seat in several of her classes, for Cedric Diggory had been in her year.

"I would like," his piercing blue eyes scanned the room, resting fractionally longer on Antony and Raylene than the other Prefects, "to implement a new policy. Each night, six of the Prefects will patrol the corridors. There will, of course, be teachers patrolling also. Patrols will take place in groups of two, and a schedule will be drawn up. Two to three nights a week are all that will be required. Please understand," and his eyes fell specifically on Antony, who met his gaze with cool indifference, "that this is for the safety of every student."

There was silence as Dumbledore finished speaking.

"Questions?" he said after a few moments.

"How will the patrolling teams be picked?" Sylvia asked, a sideways glance at Antony showing her reason for asking.

"In the best interests of unity."

No one asked what that meant. They could tell. Dumbledore would set the teams in the hope of getting students to communicate with those they would not normally associate with. Including, Raylene immediately understood, the Slytherins. The thought brought her no pleasure.

She glanced idly at her watch. Arithmancy would be coming to a close now. Meetings did not always take place during school time, but today's had. Obviously something had happened to make this a pressing issue.

When the Prefects were finally dismissed, there were only a few minutes left of the morning's first class. Instead of walking all the way to the Arithmancy classroom only to have to leave the instant she arrived, Raylene trudged straight towards the Defence Against the Dark Arts room.

She was met not long after she got there by a grim-faced Antony, who stood silently, staring across the hall. _Why is he doing Defence Against the Dark Arts?_ Raylene wondered, as she had done at least once a lesson since the start of sixth year when she had first commenced Advanced Defence. It was an invitation-only subject, and she could not bring herself to understand how Professor Lupin had managed to find enough potential for the subject in Antony to recommend him for it. Yet he had.

One of the most irritating things about the fact that Antony studied Defence was that he did so well at it. He had topped the class the previous year, much to Raylene's annoyance. Then again, he did that in every subject.

Raylene was pulled from her thoughts by the arrival of the rest of the class. She smiled at her two best friends, Melissa Farrell and Feena Fitzpatrick.

"Hey," Feena said as the two girls reached Raylene and stopped.

"What did I miss?"

"Nothing too hard," Melissa said. "Just a couple of Transfigurational theories." Raylene winced.

"Ick." Her two friends smiled sympathetically, and Melissa shrugged.

"It's really easy once Vector explains it. Go see her at lunch."

As she spoke, the door to the classroom opened and a fourth year class emerged. Raylene saw a girl with hair like fire grin at Fred and George Weasley, and a small boy push past her in a rush.

The final person to emerge form the room was a petite, fair woman, who smiled encouragingly at the class, and beckoned to them.

"You can come in now." She gave them a warm smile and as they filed in she took a place at the teacher's desk.

Professor Nouvelle was a mystery to most of the students of Hogwarts. They knew she has been an Auror once, and there was a rumour she had received the Order of Merlin, but she did not speak about that. She was a skilled and kindly teacher, yet she did not have the almost universal support Professor Lupin had achieved.

To judge by her voice, she came from somewhere around Kent, but it was impossible to be sure, for her accent had faded. It was said that until she had been offered the job as Defence professor she had been living in Canada, having travelled the world.

She was small and pale, with brilliant bright blue eyes that held a melancholy look. It was hard to believe from her porcelain doll appearance that she had actually managed to perform any serious action in the field as an Auror. Of course, physical strength did not have much to do with magical talent.

"Good morning," Nouvelle said, picking up the textbook that lay on her desk. "I told you last week that we are going to commence a unit of work on Death Eaters and Aurors. So we shall. Keep in mind, though, that you will need to be preparing for your reports on your Majors ... Has everybody picked theirs?" Raylene nodded, as did the rest of the class. Their Majors were possibly the most exciting part of the N.E.W.T. Advanced Defence course. Each student picked an area of study that they would pursue for the year, based upon their interests and skills.

"Very well," Nouvelle continued. "I'd like each of you in turn to tell the class what they are. Raylene?"

Raylene cleared her throat.

"Um, I thought I'd undertake a study of the history of fighting the Dark Arts." Nouvelle nodded encouragingly, then turned to Antony, who sat across the aisle.

"What about Mr Bond?" she asked, and her tone had a strange quality to it, one that Raylene could not quite place. It sounded a bit like it was mocking, but that couldn't be right. No ... it was more like she was ... questioning his ability, or willingness, perhaps. That didn't fit with what Raylene knew of Nouvelle, but it was the only way she could come up with of interpreting the professor's voice.

"Curses and counter curses." Antony's voice was curt, and he stared blankly at the wall behind Nouvelle.

"Very well." The question went around the room, and each student replied promptly.

"So," Nouvelle said when the class had all answered, "we have a good variety. From Miss Faulkner's history to Miss Fitzpatrick's Auror methods with everything in between, we're in for an interesting time. I'd like you each to take a bit of time and research your Majors so that you'll be ready when we start working on them in earnest.

"For now, however, it's back to the Aurors and Death Eaters. We'll look at several of the main combatants in the first battle against Lord Voldemort. Many of the details on the actual intelligence involved in the arrests is still classified information, however, what we need to know is mostly in the court records.

"So." With this, she surveyed the class, who watched her, rapt. This was entirely new to most of them. "Can anyone tell me some famous Aurors or infamous Death Eaters?"

"Anita Sanderson, Order of Merlin, Second Class."

Nouvelle stopped for a moment, her eyes fixed on Antony's, for it was he who had spoken. She seemed quite shaken, but raised her chin slightly, almost defiantly, and turned to the board, where she drew up two columns.

_Aurors_ was the heading of one, and _Death Eaters_ the other. Nouvelle neatly wrote _A. Sanderson, OMII_ in the _Aurors_ column.

"Aramis Bastion, Order of Merlin, Third Class."

"Correct, Mr Bond. Does anyone else have any names?" Nouvelle asked, a little testily, as she added Bastion to the _Aurors_ list.

Raylene raised her hand, and at Nouvelle's encouraging smile, ventured "Sirius Black."

Nouvelle nodded and quickly turned to the board, adding Black to the _Death Eaters_ list.

"Anyone else? There were far more than this. How about people who weren't Aurors, but who fought the Dark Lord in other ways?"

"Sirius Black again."

Nouvelle turned a cold gaze on Antony, who shrugged. "He did, as I'm sure you know, arrest at least one Death Eater."

"I am aware of that," Nouvelle replied in a curt, strained voice. "But I believe his actions since have ruled out any chance of placing him on this list."

"Fine. Death Eaters - Lionel and Sophonis Lestrange."

Nouvelle turned and scribbled _L. & S. Lestrange_ on the board.

"I'll help," she said, turning back to the lists and writing busily for several minutes. When she stepped away from the board, the lists were significantly longer.

_Aurors_

_(also non Ministry Dark arts fighters)_

_A. Sanderson, OMII,_

_A. Bastion, OMIII,_

_R. Sanderson,_

_J. & L. Potter,_

_A. Dumbledore, OMI,_

_A. & K. McKinnon,_

_S. & F. Bones,_

_A. & R. Prewett._

_Death Eaters_

_S. Black,_

_L. & S. Lestrange,_

_E. Rosier,_

_A. Rookwood,_

_A. Dolohov,_

_N. Travers,_

_G. Mulciber,_

_J. Bond XXIV._

"This is by no means a comprehensive list," Nouvelle said as she stepped away from the board. "Nor does it mean much to any of you at the moment, I would expect. These names are just a few of many. We will not learn them all, but we will learn some. For homework, I would like each of you to choose one person from each list and write a little about them. Try to choose one you haven't heard of before." As she made the last comment, she was looking directly at Antony, who was scowling at her. She seemed satisfied with his response, and turned back to the board.

Raylene could sense something happening between them, but she could comprehend neither its nature nor its resons. As Nouvelle dismissed them, Raylene carefully placed her textbook back in her bag, taking careful note of the two people she was going to study, A. Prewett and J. Bond XXIV.

She rifled through her bag and removed her Arithmancy textbook, so that she could pay Vector a visit over the break. She passed Nouvelle's desk at the same time Antony did. She thought she heard him muttering under his breath at the professor, but she could have been mistaken.

* * *

Merlin Talisen stood silently at her desk, waiting in nervous anticipation for her seventh year class. She could only hope they would be as pleasant as most of the fifth years she had taught before lunch. Of course, the Slytherins in her first lesson had complained constantly and bitterly about her appointment as Potions professor, particularly Draco Malfoy. That was only to be expected, though. There was bound to be some bitterness amongst the Slytherins. From what past experience Merlin had of Severus Snape, he would have made an excellent Head of Slytherin (from the point of view of the Slytherin students).

She waited until the new class should all have arrived, than, puzzled, stepped outside. They were all lined up, waiting in their own ways, ranging from raucous to calm, for her. She had been outside when the fifth years arrived. Did all the classes wait outside?

"What are you doing?" she asked the class.

"Waiting for you," was the snide reply from a tall, aristocratic looking boy who stood next to Antony Bond.

"What for? You can come straight in."

"Professor Snape had us wait, Professor," Antony told her coldly, the appraising look in his ice blue eyes making it clear she was being judged.

"Well ..." Merlin began, momentarily lost for words, then she took a breath and regained her composure. This was not going well. "Right. You can come in then."

The class obediently filed in. As Antony and the aristocratic boy entered, they stopped, shock plain on their faces, and gave the room a long, searching stare, examining every feature of it, with disapproval written across their features.

Merlin allowed herself a small smile. Instead of performing the typical quiz a new teacher would make them endure, she had ordered the fifth years to help reorganise the room. She had checked to see which ingredients they had placed together and which they had not. After all, some Potions supplies could be very volatile placed near the wrong herb.

With a growing sense of mischief, Merlin watched the two stunned Slytherins make their way to seats on the right hand side of the room. They looked positively disgusted.

The dank, drab, and dingy Potions lab was gone. Merlin had lit a fire in the fireplace, and its flickering flames sent warmth creeping through the dungeon in spite of the room's underground location. The golden light the flickering flames gave off played from the walls, making the classroom seem somehow more inviting. The stark, boring wooden desks had had a spell performed on them to allow intricate inlaid designs to play around their edges, while the walls now held posters showing various difficult potions. Two of them were enchanted to show each day's ingredients on them.

The Slytherins looked decidedly sulky, while the Gryffindors had smiles sneaking across their faces as they took their seats on the left-hand side of the room. An excited buzz emanated from them, and they kept sneaking excited glances at their new professor.

Merlin picked up the roll from her desk and gave what she hoped was her best smile.

"Top of the mornin' to you. I'm Professor Talisen."

The Slytherins stared at her, except Antony, who simply directed his gaze past her and at the blackboard. It seemed a very fixed gaze. Merlin could feel the mischief-maker she had hidden under a calm exterior since her own Hogwarts days fighting to come out.

"When I call your name," she said, glancing down at the roll, a grin threatening to burst across her face at any moment, please reply with 'present', 'here', or 'yes'.

"George Weasley."

"Gift!" called out a boy with bright red hair who sat across the aisle from Antony, next to someone who could only be his twin, and a grinning boy with dreadlocks.

"Thank you, Mr Weasley. And you would be Fred?"

"There," Fred replied solemnly. Merlin shook her head slowly, unwanted memories of her own school time flooding back into her mind ... she pushed them from prominence and continued up the roll.

"Alexander von Senff."

"Present, Professor."

"Étienne Vevoorne."

"Present, Professor."

Each Slytherin student replied with an icy "Present, Professor." The Gryffindors' answers ranged from "No, Professor" (Lee Jordan), to an excited "Here!" (Alicia Spinnet and Tracey Kearney).

The aristocratic boy with Antony Bond turned out to be Vincent Edwards. Antony himself replied with a contemptuous "Do you really need to ask?" when she called his name.

After Lachlan Barz of Gryffindor had declared himself present, Merlin picked up a sheaf of parchment from her desk.

"I'm going to give you a little quiz, just so I know what you do and don't know."

The Slytherins rolled their eyes. Merlin had been expecting nothing less, and ignore them, instead handing out the parchment she had prepared the test on. There was soon silence except for the scratching of quills, so Merlin had a chance to study her class. There were eight Gryffindors and twelve Slytherins. _Makes sense,_ she told herself. _After all, these are people who were born in the last years of Voldemort's first rise._

She made her way back to her desk, lost in thought, and tripped over her chair. She felt her face go red, and looked up to see Vincent Edwards and Antony Bond watching her. She immersed herself in a book, hoping to hide her shame. She had always been clumsy but she had learned grace. When she forgot it, however, she was liable to trip over things and break any glass she happened to be near. Once she had tripped over and almost injured one of her year mates from Slytherin.

Merlin recognised the names of several of the students. She had been good friends with Molly and Arthur Weasley, and had even met the twins once when they were very young. She sighed as she saw one of them pull a firework from under his desk, and gave him a warning look. He replied with a sheepish smile, sliding the firework back into his bag.

Merlin returned to her thoughts. Tracey Kearney's family was well respected amongst Irish wizards, and the von Senffs, Ridleys, and Bonds were all old wizarding families represented amongst the Slytherin students.

When the students had finished their quizzes, Merlin collected them, then stood in front of her desk, giving what she hoped was a winning smile.

"Professor Snape didn't leave any notes on where you were up to. Would anybody care to inform me?"

"We'd just done notes on the Draught of Living Death," Antony replied promptly, yet in a manner which Merlin did not at all like. She found the smirk flickering across his face unpleasant and disconcerting.

"Thank you, Mr Bond. Now, do you have any questions you'd like to ask me? I'm sure you're all a bit curious."

There was a long silence. Merlin raised an eyebrow, and was about to ask the students themselves questions, when she saw Vincent Edwards glance almost imperceptibly at Antony Bond, who gave the slightest of nods.

"Professor," he said in a slow, almost drawling voice. "What makes you qualified to teach us Potions?" Merlin could tell immediately that he was remembering her awkward trip.

"Well, I have an Irish Potions Master, Archdruid Level, awarded for creating the Wolfsbane Potion, but other than that, not much. Good enough to teach an Edwards?" She noticed the look that passed between Vincent and Antony, and quickly added "or should I be worrying about teaching a Bond?"

"What house were you in?" Katie Bell asked quickly.

"At Hogwarts, Gryffindor. At the Tara Druidic Academy, Hounds. Now, can I ask you a few questions?" The Gryffindors nodded eagerly, while the Slytherins eyed her with great suspicion.

  
"Who are the Quidditch captains? Who here plays?" she asked eagerly.

Three of the Gryffindor girls and the Weasley twins raised their hands.

"Harry Potter's captain," Alicia said. "George and Fred here are Beaters, and Angelina, Katie, and I are Chasers."

Merlin smiled and nodded.

"What about Slytherin?"

There was a stony silence, which endured a few moments, before being broken by Vanitra Ridley.

"Oh, Antony's the captain."

Merlin stood in silence for a moment. _So,_ she thought. _Team Potter plays Team Bond again. Oh, Lord ..._

Merlin glanced briefly at her watch, trying to force herself from her memories, and realised it was time to let the students out. She gave them a smile and dismissed them, watching as they moved out of the door.

The day had not been highly successful. She now had two hostile Slytherin classes to worry about. Not a thought she looked forward to. And as well as that, there was Antony Bond: cold, sarcastic, and nasty. He had so far been doing an excellent job of appearing to be a perfect Slytherin, upholding all the house's ideals.

Merlin shook her head, gathered up her equipment, and returned to her office.

***


	3. The Astronomy Professor

**Disclaimer: **As we all know, I do now own or claim to own any rights to the people, places and situations of the Harry Potter universe, which belong to J.K. Rowling, AOL Time Warner, and various publishers, included but not limited to Bloomsbury Publishing Plc and Scholastic Books. I am making no money and intend no copyright infringement.

**Sources of Quotes:** _"_I can only show you the door. You're the one that has to walk through it." - Laurence Fishburne as Morpheus in the Warner Brothers film, _The Matrix_, released in 1999 and directed/written by Andy and Larry Wachowski.

"The Prince of Darkness is a gentleman" - William Shakespeare, _King Lear_, act III, scene 4, line 146.

All other quotes are from William Shakespeare, with their locations given in the text.

**Author's Note: **This is just a quick note to thank everyone who's taken the time to review. This is a hard story to write because at times I passionately hate some of the main characters, and your feedback has kept me going when it was driving me to distraction. Thank you. Please continue to give me your thoughts, questions and criticisms.

The usual thanks must go to the lovely Elanor Gamgee, my beta reader, and TQ my sister and sounding board. (TQ, incidentally, has found Maxwell Vellian in the Harry Potter movie. So I dared her to find Antony Bond. ;-P)

**Chapter Three: The Astronomy Professor**

_"I can only show you the door. You're the one that has to walk through it."  
_Morpheus, The Matrix

After dismissing her somewhat bemused (an improvement on the sheer terror they had entered the room with) Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw first years, Merlin sighed and turned to the board. She slowly wiped the chalk from it in large, sweeping circles to allow herself a quiet moment in which to think before adjourning to the Defence Against the Dark Arts office, where she had been invited for a cup of tea with her colleague.

In a leisurely way, she began packing away her books, images of the haunting faces of the day floating before her eyes. Tears of reminiscence and a pain which had still not gone away even after fourteen years blurred her vision, and she gave a weak grin at her own sentimentality before swiping a robe arm across her moistened face.

She shook her head at her own foolishness as she shut the classroom door behind her. Fond memories would not bring back the dead, nor would tears. And neither would they correct the mistakes and evils of the past, or clear an innocent man.

Since her time at Hogwarts, both she and the world had seen a great deal of pain. Neither of them had coped well; they still suffered from the after effects. And now it was all happening again. And would continue to happen again, again, and again, the vicious circle continuing to play out its path until the scourge of prejudice and the Slytherin psyche was eradicated.

When Merlin reached the Defence office she pulled herself from her thoughts, rapped quietly on the door, and waited.

It opened slightly, and Merlin was greeted by Nouvelle's pale face and shy smile.

"Ah, Merlin," Nouvelle said, gesturing for her companion to enter the room. "Do come in. Tea?"

Merlin nodded, and Nouvelle handed her a cup as she took her seat.

"You haven't lost your knack for quick tea making," Merlin commented, taking a sip of the warm liquid and giving a contented smile. "Ah. You still remember how I like it!"

"Of course," Nouvelle replied, lowering herself into the chair behind her desk. "You don't forget what your best friend likes so soon. No matter how far you travel." There was a touch of misty reminiscence in Nouvelle's clear blue eyes, and a brief silence crept over the two women, heavy with poignant memories as they both sat, minds far distant from the small office, in a painful past. With friends long dead.

"So, Merlin," Nouvelle finally said, with a small, wistful sigh, "How was your first day?"

"Hmm?" Merlin drifted gently from her reminiscences. She shook her head slightly, then took a sip form the cup grasped between her hands. "Sorry. I was miles away. Well, it was interestin' at least. I'll give it that."

Nouvelle smiled gently at her over the rim of her teacup, understanding in her gaze.

"Yes. Mine was rather like that. Were the Slytherins any trouble?"

"Oh, yes," Merlin replied, rolling her eyes as a small grin crept across her face. "I never doubted they would be. I had, shall we say, the _audacity_, or at least that's what they'd call it, to reorganise Severus' horrible decor." She gave a small shudder. "Have you been in there recently? It was all black. And slimy. Urgh." Another shiver swept over her, and she screwed up her face in an ugly grimace, forcing Nouvelle to smile. "I honestly don't know how any of the students could work there.

"My fifth years helped me redecorate." She said the last words with a glint of mischief in her green eyes. Nouvelle gave a short snort of laughter. "I bet young Master Malfoy was impressed with that."

"Oh, Draco," Merlin said, rolling her eyes again. "All the nastiness of his father, and none of the cunning."

Nouvelle nodded thoughtfully.

"You know, that's a very good summary of him. He's an absolute nightmare to teach Defence to. He has absolutely no respect. I pity our poor Defence professor, having to teach his father.

"And," she added, her voice barely audible. "I think he knows who I am."

"No matter how hard you try, you can't hide your past forever," Merlin said gently, placing a hand on her friend's shoulder and gazing sympathetically into her eyes. "Lucius probably figured it out and told him."

Nouvelle sighed.

"That's a horrible topic, Merlin. Be a good girl now, and change the subject. Finish telling me about your day."

Merlin smiled and emptied her teacup with a final gulp. With a gentle chink, she replaced it on the saucer, then sat back in her chair, staring at a point just past Nouvelle's ear.

"My first ever lesson, and I had the fifth years. So many memories stared at me from those faces. Sitting before me, I saw Arthur Weasley, Lucius Malfoy, and ... James. Nothing could ever have prepared me for the sight of Harry Potter's face." She shook her head slowly, taking a deep breath, and blinking madly at the tears which threatened to burst forth from her eyes, hoping she could restrain them.

"And he has Lily's eyes," Nouvelle whispered. She had become skilled at hiding her emotions after long years of practise. Merlin knew Lily and James' deaths still hurt her friend greatly, but Nouvelle's face was a guarded mask.

"And then the shock I got in the next class. Well, not really then. It was actually the instant I arrived. Do you know who met me at the door of the castle when I arrived? The Head Boy and Girl."

At the mention of Antony Bond, Nouvelle's face became a little too controlled. Merlin knew she was hurting, and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Why him?" she whispered. "Why Head Boy?

"You know, he looks so like his cousins. He has the Malfoy face, but the colouring ..." Her voice faded, and she shook her head apologetically. "Sorry."

She use the awkward moment to refill her and Nouvelle's cups, then sat back in her seat, and said in a louder voice, "If you'd told me a week ago I'd be teaching Jorman Bond's son, I'd have laughed at you. One, I never expected to be a teacher. Two, why on earth is he here, and not at Durmstrang?" She spat the last words with a potent venom in her voice, loathing and disgust written on her features.

"And," Nouvelle breathed, "If you'd said the same to me, I'd have said you were insane."

Merlin spat out her mouthful of tea, leaping to her feet.

"He does DEFENCE?"

Nouvelle nodded grimly, her expression fixed.

"Who the hell would recommend _him_ for Advanced Defence?"

Nouvelle's reply was quiet, but Merlin heard a bitter, angry edge in her tone.

"One guess."

"No! Not ..."

Nouvelle nodded confirmation.

"Remus."

"But ..." Merlin's voice was faint with shock, and filled with her confusion. "Why?"

Nouvelle shook her head sadly and placed her cup back on its saucer. The faraway look of memory was back in her eyes as she spoke.

"Have you heard anything from him?"

Merlin sank back into her seat with a sigh, leaning back and staring at the ceiling.

"No. If Albus hadn't said he was working for the Order of the Phoenix, and had taught here, I wouldn't know if he were alive or dead." A note of bitterness had crept into her voice. Nouvelle seemed decidedly uncomfortable, and after yet another forced silence, Merlin stood, thanking Nouvelle for the tea, and, muttering a few words about marking work, left.

_Oughtn't you have told her? You were so close to mentioning his name, when you talked about Bond's cousins..._ Merlin couldn't help thinking as she wove through the twisted ants' nest of corridors.

She shook her head and hurried on, but the nagging doubt still plagued her, along with a familiar face, much changed by the years.

* * *

At half past eleven that night, Raylene groggily dragged herself from her bed, fumbling in the darkness for her robe, cloak, bag, and glasses, and earning a muffled exclamation of displeasure from Melissa.

Some people, like Feena, when confronted with a practical Astronomy lesson at midnight, stayed awake in the common room, while others like Raylene went to bed early, took a precious few hours' sleep, and awoke in time to slip on a robe, organise their hair, grab their bag, and be down in the common room with enough spare time to make it to the lesson before the teacher's "Good morning, class" in Sinistra's case, or "Please take your places" when the teacher was Vellian. It was a fine art, and Raylene had perfected it.

Astronomy was unique among Hogwarts' subjects, as it was the only one where two teachers were necessary. The unusual and tiring hours of practical Astronomy classes, as well as the large amount of time they took to prepare and pack up, meant that teachers found it tiring at best, and sometimes almost impossible to teach at midnight, then be awake enough to teach theory classes during the day.

The department consisted of Stella Sinistra and Maxwell Vellian. Sinistra taught days Tuesday and Thursday, and nights on the mornings of Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday (with seven years of students and only seven nights in a week, practical lessons took place every night), while Vellian, the junior member of the department, had theory lessons on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, and practical Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday.

Sinistra had been at the school many years, and was an ex-Ravenclaw Prefect, well liked by most students. Vellian, however, was a Slytehrin, who had during his school days been considered somewhat of a failure among his house mates, because his ambitions tended more towards astronomical discoveries rather than the acclaim or widespread success desired by the other members of Slytherin.

The seventh year elective Astronomy class had Vellian, as their lessons fell on Wednesday and Friday for theory, and the dim hours of Tuesday morning for practical.

Raylene stumbled, bleary eyed, into the common room, where Feena awaited her, along with Christine Dwyer, another stay-up-late astronomer.

When the groups was joined by Darren Royce, who staggered down the boys' staircase a few minutes after Raylene arrived, they silently arose and made their way to the Astronomy Tower.

They knew the way easily, having studied Astronomy all of their Hogwarts careers. They also knew from memory who was in the class.

But there was one thing they were not prepared for, nor expecting. That was the change in atmosphere that began the instant Vellian stepped into the room, and grew throughout the lesson.

The junior Astronomy professor was young - so young that the skin around his eyes was unmarked by lines, and his hair unflecked with grey. He had been at the school for less time than the seventh years, joining the staff in their third year. This lack of years and experience had never caused a problem before.

That morning, however, brought a change. When the Ravenclaws arrived, the class members from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff were already at their places by the windows, telescopes ready, and as the Ravenclaws took their seats, Vanitra Ridley, Alexander von Senff, and Juliette Lisegna of Slytherin sauntered in.

Raylene rolled her eyes. There were supposed to be six Slytherins in the class. With Vellian now their Head of House, they should surely be paying him the respect of at least arriving at his classes on time.

She still had an expression of displeasure fixed on her face when Vellian strode into the room, a smile on his face, which on closer inspection looked strained and tired. The Slytherins sneered at him as he walked in, and there was an almost palpable tension in the air.

"Please take your places," he told the Slytherins in a sharper tone than he normally used. He eyed the assembled students, seeming to take careful note of the two absentees. Raylene saw in the light of the torches, which were lit each lesson before the students commenced their scrutiny of the night sky, that his eyes held more fatigue than normal, and his face was grey and stressed.

It was at that moment that, with their usual impeccable timing, Antony Bond and Vincent Edwards chose to enter. Antony gave an insolent look around the classroom, nodded ever so slightly (and Raylene thought, rather sarcastically) to Vellian, then swept to his seat, Edwards never far behind. The tension was now crescendoing.

"Can anyone say _obnoxious_?" Feena hissed, leaning over so Raylene could hear her. Raylene shook her head in disgust.

"Yes."

"Ah. Mr Edwards and Mr Bond. Lovely of you to join us," Vellian said in a strained voice. He could obviously feel the acidic, icy gaze Antony had fixed on him. He looked decidedly uncomfortable.

"Just plain 'Bond', thank you, Vellian," Antony said in a lazy voice. "I am, as you are aware, sixteen, not seventeen."

Feena muttered something unpleasant under her breath, which sounded to Raylene like something she had learned from Melissa, who, above any of the other Ravenclaws, despised Antony Bond. There was no apparent reason behind this; their personalities were simply not compatible. _Although_, Raylene reflected_, his personality's not really compatible with anyone's ..._

"He was only trying to be as polite as possible!" Feena mouthed at Raylene, who nodded, rolling her eyes, indicating that she already knew that, and turned back to Vellian.

"How are your essays going for Wednesday?" Vellian asked, taking a seat at his desk and toying with a stick of chalk.

"Horribly," Alicia Spinnet said. "Can we have some help?"

"If you don't learn it by yourself, you won't learn it at all."

"Of course," Raylene heard Antony whispering to Alexander von Senff, "that is why it's so important to help your fellow Slytherins. Because there are some," he eyed Vellian with disgust, "who find it difficult to display proper Slytherin spirit."

"Exactly," Vincent Edwards said. The other Slytherins were nodding. Vellian raised an eyebrow at them, but Antony gave a sarcastic smile and he returned his gaze to the rest of the class.

"You should find most of the information you need in your textbooks and the library," Vellian added. "Now, if no-one has any further questions, we shall begin the lesson."

Raylene could see Antony leaning toward von Senff, taking a piece of parchment from him.

"Ah, Alexander. Not quite. I think you'll find it's a binary. Other than that, it seems well done. I'm glad you found my help worthwhile."

_Why_, Raylene wondered to herself, _when Vellian specifically said not to seek help, as you'll learn better on your own, is he helping the other Slytherins?_

"Bond," Vellian said coolly, "what is so important it need be discussed in class?"

Antony did not answer, but instead stared past the teacher's shoulder in what Raylene felt must be a very disconcerting way, and was certainly making Vellian look decidedly uncomfortable.

"Five points from Slytherin. Please don't make me take more."

There was a pause in all conversation as the six Slytherins simultaneously fixed him with their nastiest glares. Vellian seemed to wilt under the twelve cold eyes, but he did not restore the points. He reminded Raylene of a cat, which, after displaying its superior cunning on a small   
mouse, had just been bitten nastily.

He had only been doing his job. And what a job it was.

_Poor man_, Raylene thought as the class proceeded, watching the hostility of the Slytherins towards their Head of House under Antony Bond's leadership. _I wouldn't wish having to control them on anyone. Not even Vellian._

_No, wait a moment. _Especially_ not Vellian._

* * *

Merlin Talisen was surprised at how easily she managed to settle into the life and routine of a Hogwarts professor. The other staff members were pleasant and helpful, even the Head of Slytherin, Maxwell Vellian. She had met him several times as he hurried between the dungeons and his office in the Astronomy Tower. He had to be the teacher who had furthest to go from his office to the Slytherin dungeons, but he _was_ the only Slytherin on staff after Snape's disappearance.

Merlin gazed out the windows onto the snowy grounds as she meandered through the corridors on her way to the dungeon from the staff room one cool, frosty morning near the end of term. Life was definitely improving, with the kindness of the staff and the quick acceptance of most of the students making her feel very welcome and helping her settle.

Her classes had been getting better. The Gryffindors adored her, but whether this was because of her teaching style, or simply because she wasn't Severus Snape, she couldn't be certain. The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs seemed to like her quite well, but the Slytherins were different.

They despised her. But that was, perhaps, understandable. It had been a long time since there had been a Potions master who was not Head of Slytherin, but Dumbledore was always one to vary from tradition. Who else would appoint a werewolf as a Defence teacher, good as Lupin had been?

She couldn't really complain, she reflected as she descended into the dank, damp stone corridors that led into the dungeons. While she had never really considered teaching as a career, she had always thought it might be nice to try it. Now she could, and she was enjoying herself, despite the Slytherins.

_So ha to you, Antony Bond!_ she thought gleefully as she entered her classroom and saw her seventh years assembled before her. Antony was not there. He seemed, from what she had heard, to make a habit of appearing late to the lessons of teachers he did not like. He constantly did it to Maxwell Vellian, and had been known to try it on a few others.

The thing was that he always had a good reason.

What was surprising was that while Antony was not there, Vincent Edwards was. The two were normally not seen out of each other's company. Did Antony have a Head Boy meeting with the headmaster? Dumbledore hadn't mentioned one to her ...

She shook her head, put her bag on her desk, and pulled out her textbook.

"Does everyone have their essays for me?" she asked sternly. The class nodded. "Please bring them up the front."

As the students milled around in the various stages of bringing her their essays, Alexander von Senff slipped into the room.

"Ah, Mr von Senff," Merlin said once the class were seated again. "Do _you_ have an essay for me?"

"No," the Slytherin replied insolently. Merlin paused, fixing him with a harsh stare and raising one eyebrow.

"No? Detention!"

"It's not finished. I'll have it to you tomorrow ..."

"Yes, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow!"

" 'Creeps in this petty pace from day to day  
To the last syllable of recorded time'," a soft voice said behind Merlin. "_Macbeth_, act V, scene 5, line 24."

She spun around. That voice was familiar, but it wasn't possible ...

There was no-one behind her. All the students had been in their seats. Except one, who was only now taking a seat beside Vincent Edwards, tossing his bag on the ground and scowling.

"A petty pace you set indeed, Antony Bond," Merlin murmured, half to herself. "I'd like to see you after class regarding your lateness," she added in a more confident voice.

She sank into her seat, feeling suddenly weak at the knees and rather light-headed.

"_Macbeth_?" she whispered to herself, staring at Antony. "Where the hell did he learn that one?"

* * *

"You wanted to see me, professor?" Antony said quietly as the last students filed out. He dismissed Vincent with a look, and walked up to stand in front of Merlin's desk.

" 'Yet who would have thought the old man'," Merlin began.

" 'To have had so much blood in him?' _Macbeth_, act V, scene 1, line 18," Antony replied without a moment of hesitation.

"All right. Umm ... 'Till Birnam wood remove to Dunsinane,'" Merlin stammered, feeling she was in a situation nothing had prepared her for.

"'I cannot taint with fear._ Macbeth_, act V, scene 3, line'"

"But anyone may have studied _Macbeth_ to see how Muggles view our kind. ' To be, or not to be, that is the question'"

"'Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer   
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,  
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,  
And by opposing end them.' _Hamlet_, act III, scene 3, line 64. Did you call me here to bandy in Shakespeare with me?" he added in a bored tone.

"You must admit, it's not a normal thing for a Slytherin to be able to do. Or any wizard, for that matter. I certainly can't name the scenes and lines of any quote thrown at me."

"You probably haven't studied Shakespeare in quite as much depth as I have."

"What is with you, Antony Bond?" Merlin asked quietly, staring into the cold blue eyes, hoping for a hint of humanity.

"What is it with me? I'm a pure Slytherin. Always have been. Nasty, sadistic, and cruel."

"Yes, you are," Merlin said in a reflective tone.

"So?" Antony replied, insolence and sarcasm dripping from his voice.

"Why Shakespeare?"

"It's a hobby. Know your enemy so you can better attack them." He gave a cold grin of malice that sent unpleasant shudders through Merlin's body. The way his lips curled ... This was truly a protégé of Lucius Malfoy. Cold and evil. Taken and twisted by his cousin, just as his father had been before him.

"Don't follow your father, Antony. It will gain you nothing," Merlin said softly.

Antony turned a scathing glare on her.

"Really?" he sneered. "Then just remember this, Professor Merlin Talisen, friend of werewolves and associate of murderers. 'The Prince of Darkness is a gentleman.'"

With that he strode from the room, leaving Merlin stunned and unable to even attempt comprehending the meaning of his parting words. How did one person get so totally twisted? And why did she not hate him for it?

* * *

Later that day, Professor Nouvelle also had the seventh years. The class was progressing well. They were working hard on their majors, as well as completing their unit on Death Eaters and Aurors. Everyone seemed happy except Antony Bond. But that was only to be expected, after everything ...

She shook herself. _Don't be stupid. It won't solve anything,_ she thought as she gazed across the ranks of her class. _It'll just stir up hatreds. Which are quite stirred up enough_, she added to herself almost viciously, averting her eyes from Antony Bond's face.

Perhaps the most annoying thing about him was that while he couldn't genuinely want to use Defence, being the sort to practise the Dark Arts, rather than fight them, he was still coming first in the class. It wasn't right ...

There came a sharp rapping at the door.

"Come in," Nouvelle said automatically, not pausing to wonder who could be disturbing the lesson.

The door burst open with somewhat more force than Nouvelle felt was truly necessary, and Merlin Talisen stood in the doorway, her normally perfect mahogany hair tangled, her eyes wide, and her face flustered. She dashed over to Nouvelle and grabbed her arm.

"Class dismissed!" she panted, hauling on her friend's arm.

"Hang on, Merlin!" Nouvelle cried, aghast. "This is my class. Class _not_ dismissed," she added viciously to a pair of Hufflepuffs who had risen at Merlin's words.

"This is important!" Merlin hissed in Nouvelle's ear.

"No more so than teaching my seventh years to protect themselves."

"Oh, yes it is. You're coming with me." She began dragging Nouvelle to the door, but the woman wouldn't go with her. "Come on! It's life or death!"

"Whose?" Nouvelle whispered, suddenly not so certain.

"I can't tell you here," Merlin replied, inclining her head towards the students and tugging her friend towards the door. "Come on!"

"Merlin! My dignity, please! People will talk!" Nouvelle pleaded, glancing at Antony Bond again.

"This is more important than dignity. Are you coming?"

"Oh, all right!" Merlin dropped her arm and hurried off. "Hang on! Class, take the rest of the lesson off. I'll be expecting essays from you next lesson!"

With that, she ran out the door after Merlin, who was already halfway down the corridor by the time Nouvelle caught up with her.

"What is going on?"

"Wait."

Merlin led her through corridors and up stairways that led to the upper levels of the main part of the school. There were only a few places they could be going. One of the towers, Albus' office, the Gryffindor common room, the hospital wing.

"Merlin!" Nouvelle panted, jogging alongside her friend. "Are we going to the hospital wing?"

But as they turned a corner, her questions were answered. They were in the corridor outside the hospital wing, and waiting there for them was a man Nouvelle had not seen in fourteen years.

He had changed, but not greatly. His face was more lined and troubled, creased with worry, his hair slightly more flecked with grey, the shadows on his skin more pronounced, and there were a few new thin scars across his cheeks, but a kind, compassionate light still shone from his eyes the colour of sea water.

"Remus ..." Nouvelle whispered, but he had hurried over to Merlin.

"Do you have the antidote, Merlin?" he asked pressingly. She gave simple nod, pulling a phial from her robe pocket, and relief flickered onto Remus' face, settling there and easing the worry.

"Good. This way." He turned and led Nouvelle and Merlin into a room, where curtains had been placed around a single, large bed. Merlin took out the phial and shook it, sending the liquid into a frenzy of colour.

"Drink this," she murmured. It was then that Nouvelle saw who was lying on the bed, and let out a furious scream of anger, grief, and betrayal.

* * *


	4. The Professors and the Patients

**Disclaimer:** The situations, places, and people of the Harry Potter world do not belong to me. I am not, nor do I claim to be, affiliated with or authorised by J. K. Rowling, AOL Time Warner, or any of the various publishers of Harry Potter (including Bloomsbury Publishing Plc and Scholastic Books). The aforementioned are fortunate enough to own Harry Potter. I'm not. I'm just a fan. 

The quote at the start of the chapter is from William Shakespeare's play _Julius Caesar_. Act 1, scene ii, line 195. 

**Author's Note:** Sincerest thanks to Juliane, tenacious muse, Ayod Botla, Christa Winters, and Kellibus for their help with the scene in Maxwell's office. Thanks are also owed to Thing1, D.M.P., and Rage Point for their help (however unwitting some of it may have been) with the Quidditch scene. Thanks must also go to all my reviewers, particularly my pesterers, the ones who say to me in posts or emails "oh, by the way, JK, when's the next chapter of DD coming out?" I don't know how I'd pull the story through difficult times without you. I also owe my gratitude to the kind denizens of Sugar Quill, The Werewolf Registry, and Gryffindor Tower for their support and advice when I was suffering those most dreaded aspects of writing: writer's block and burnout. And of course, thanks to the marvellous Elanor and TQ. 

Typed up with the help of Easter chocolate and Antony Bond's soundtrack (Kasey Chambers' _Barricades and Brickwalls_, tracks 2, 7, 10, 11, and 12). 

**Dedication:** To my readers and friends. Without you, I am nothing and Antony is even less.   
  
  


**Chapter Four: The Professors and the Patients**

"He thinks too much. Such men are dangerous."   
Julius Caesar, Julius Caesar

  
  
  


"Never in all of my ... If I never see those manipulative ..." There was a pause, as though the speaker was uncertain of the next words, perhaps searching for an insult bad enough to use, "SLYTHERINS again ..." SLAM! 

The door to the staff room crashed furiously shut, and rattled for a moment before coming slowly to a halt, so great had been the force that flung it. The voice faded as its owner collapsed into a chair with a heavy exhalation, scattering rolls of parchment from the table across the floor as his cloak swept after him. 

"Maxwell!" Merlin Talisen cried in dismay as the essays she was marking fell from their organised pile to scatter across the floor. She glared at him as she bent to collect them. McGonagall looked up from her paperwork, fixing Maxwell with a stern look over the top of her glasses; in that glare was a strong rebuke for his shattering of the staff room calm. 

"Is there a problem, Maxwell?" From his reaction, Maxwell could well have not heard either of them. 

"Bickering, self serving, self righteous, arrogant ..." 

"Who is it this time?" McGonagall asked, the sterness of her question reflected in her face. 

Maxwell sighed and gave a moan. "My prefects ..." 

Talisen smiled inwardly, nodding, her irritation at his scattering of her marking fading now she knew the reason for his behaviour. She dumped the essays on the table, went to the bench, and filled a cup with tea. She pressed it into the astronomer's hands. He glared at it as though it were his prefects, then took a hot sip. He continued to scowl into the murky surface of the liquid. 

"What did that poor cup of tea ever do to you?" Talisen joked, but it failed to amuse him; he directed his glare (a particularly vicious one) at her. 

"You remind me of your prefects yourself with that look on your face, Maxwell," McGonagall said. 

"Well, few could tutor in the Death Glare better than Mr Bond," Talisen added with a wry half smirk. 

Maxwell's face hardened and he dropped the temperature of his voice several degrees to drawl "Just plain 'Bond', thank you, Talisen. He is, as you are aware, sixteen, not seventeen." He muttered something furious, redoubling his optical assault on the teacup. 

"Did he say that?" Talisen exclaimed. She paused. "You know, I had actually forgotten the exact date of his birth," she added in a dry tone. McGonagall was looking solemn. 

"I had forgotten how rotten his entire family is!" Maxwell spat back. 

"Do you want sympathetic ears to listen to your prefect problems or not?" Talisen snapped again, displaying her fine redhead's temper. She took a calming breath then added "Or are they Head Boy hassles, judging by your complaints?" 

"Both," Maxwell sighed. "Bond has been the personification of the term 'obnoxious spoilt brat' ever since I became his Head of House. He shows up late to Astronomy classes, without a word of apology of course; deliberately disobeys my instructions, especially about when students are to do their work _without_ assistance; accuses me of lacking," here he adopted an icy drawl, "'_proper_ Slytherin spirit'; refuses to show me any respect ... " 

"And now he and Chauncey ..." 

"Your sixth year prefect, yes?" Merlin said, frowning at Maxwell's news. McGonagall's face was icily cold. 

"Yes," Maxwell said heavily. "Bond and Chauncey decided a sniping match in the middle of the common room was the most brilliant idea since sugar quills. From what I can gather, Bond raked a first year over the coals for being unfortunate enough to accidentally let that blasted cat of his out of the common room. Chauncey decided to be the first years' champion and stick up for the boy, so Bond threatened to remove him from the Quidditch team. Chauncey insulted him and deducted fifteen points for abuse of privileges as Quidditch captain, so Bond retaliated by removing twenty points for back chatting." He held his head in his hands, with a piteous moan. "And Bond says _I_ lack Slytherin spirit. Bond was in the wrong, of course, just for a change, but thirty-five points ..." 

"But neither of those are things they are authorised to deduct points for, so the deductions don't stand!" Talisen exclaimed. 

"They'll lose more than thirty-five points from this. It's the principle of the matter," McGonagall said in a grim tone, frowning. "It seems I need a word with them. Bond especially. And then I'll send him down to you, Maxwell, for it seems you also need words with the boy. Make sure he knows you will tolerate no disrespect. If this continues, he will lose his badge. 

"Now, if you will excuse me, I must go find Bond and Chauncey." With a single regal motion, she swept a sheaf of parchment from the table and exited. 

Talisen gazed at Vellian, her brow furrowed in thought. He was muttering at a furious rate, with a furious tone. "Maxwell, he needs to learn that simply because you're not Severus Snape doesn't mean he can be outright disrespectful. Make sure he knows he's in danger of losing his badge. I'm not sure there are a lot of people who'd be sad to see it go to someone else. After all," she added, a glint of mischief in her eyes, "I'm sure Minerva could find a worthy Hufflepuff for the job." 

The look of horror on Maxwell's face was enough to make putting up with his complaints worthwhile. Talisen erupted into laughter.   
  
  
  


* * * 

  
  


Maxwell was filled with a quiet determination as he shut the door of his office in the lower levels of the Astronomy Tower. He knew exactly what he would tell that sixteen-year-old upstart Head Boy when Minerva sent him down. By the stars in Orion's Belt, Maxwell was not going to let this ... _insolence_ continue. He was not Severus Snape. He knew that just as well as his infuriating students. But that did not mean he was going to let those slithering Slytherin serpents slide all over him and into his position. He was Head of House. Bond was Head Boy. Maxwell was Astronomy Professor. Bond was a student. A brilliant one, admittedly, for no-one could deny it, but still merely a student. 

Maxwell sat behind his desk, staring into the mesmerising flames of the crackling fire. He could clearly remember Bond's father from school. His son bore startling similarities to him. Maxwell had only the frightened, awed, and above all, impressionable memories of a first year, but amongst the strongest in that confused jumble of recollections were those of the most powerful student in Slytherin. The boy had, if Slytherin rumour was to be believed, spent most of his Hogwarts career waiting in the shadow of his first cousin, Lucius Malfoy, letting him have the crown of the power games. 

Yet Jorman Bond XXIV could never be described as weak or inept. He had merely been content to watch, wait, and learn. And learn he did, for after Malfoy had left Hogwarts, Bond had quickly ascended to the very top. No-one had realised just how much he had learned, nor how high he had already been on the power scale until he was Quidditch captain (not a mark of Quidditch talent in Slytherin, but rather of power), with none daring to challenge him. Maxwell's early memories of Hogwarts were like a small child's, or badly blended paint: a marbled blur, with brilliant specks standing out from the mass. Jorman Bond XXIV was one of them. Maxwell clearly remembered the flint-harsh words, the cold face, the aloof stance.   
Bond had been a menacing figure to those who challenged him. 

Those challenges had been few, but there were some. They were mostly from the Gryffindors in his year. Bond had never been the intellectual (or, to be honest, Quidditch playing) equal of the Head Boy and Gryffindor Quidditch captain, James Potter. In that, he was unlike his son. But Bond's special enemy had never been Potter. Potter had been Severus Snape's favourite despisee. Bond's had been Sirius Black. 

Maxwell allowed himself a small smile at the irony of that particular hatred. He had seen the ferocity at Gryffindor/Slytherin Quidditch matches, where Black had always looked like he wanted to smash Bond's nose with a Bludger. Maxwell also recalled the only time he'd seen the two boys on the ground together, and a small shiver made its way down his back. Bond had been threatening the Gryffindor, who had been ignoring him, and the anger and hatred emanating from each boy had made Maxwell hurry away, and still made him shudder in memory. He had never repeated the experience, which he was eternally grateful for, given later events. 

It was these events that caused the irony of Jorman Bond's life and his son's mere existence. There were two forks to the serpent's tongue; Bond had fallen deeply in love with a Slytherin girl in the year above him. She had, Maxwell had been told, been of a chilly beauty, with a family history on her mother's side dating back to the Norman conquest. The perfect wife for any self-respecting Slytherin. 

And Antony had tainted blood on either side of his family; for she had been Sirius Black's first cousin. 

The other prong was what happened when Black and Bond left Hogwarts. Bond had quickly become a Death Eater, and just before Harry Potter's first defeat of Lord Voldemort, had been arrested and sentenced to life in Azkaban for murder and torture. What a blow it must have been to him to have his school enemy as his superior; the most despised Gryffindor in his year transformed into his master's most trusted servant. And then to spend years in the same prison as him. For the same crime: murder. So alike in the end. 

Maxwell gave his grim smile at the irony a few moments more. Then he reluctantly dragged himself from reminiscence and into the present. He needed to think about the conversation he was going to have once Bond deigned the mere professor worthy of his presence. Maxwell would repeat Minerva's words. The boy (which was, after all, all Bond was) was so hopelessly proud of his success that the threat of removing his Head Boy badge was sure to have the desired effect. 

Talisen was right. Bond had to learn that, just because he was used to Severus Snape, that didn't mean he could undermine and thus usurp his Head of House's power. Maxwell was going to make damn sure he did learn it. No sixteen year old spoilt upstart brat of a ... a _Malfoy_ was going to do that to him ... 

"Professor?" The soft voice held just the slightest hint of strain, as though it pained the speaker to grant Maxwell the courtesy of his proper title. He felt his jaw tense and his face harden as he looked up. 

"Yes, Bond?" he asked, injecting the maximum of disdain he could muster into the two words. 

"Professor McGonagall sent me to see you." There was the slightest smile playing across the boy's lips, as though nothing in the surely long and furious lecture McGonagall had given him about misuse of power had affected him at all, and receiving an angry tirade from Maxwell would have even less effect. As though he didn't give a damn what his Head of House was about to say. 

At that moment, his Head of House was in fact feeling fury well inside his chest. The sheer insolence of the boy! "Yes, Bond. I have no doubt she did," Maxwell said icily. "Please take a seat." 

"Oh, it's no problem, professor. I'll stand." That smile was teasing him! 

Maxwell began to argue, but the words would not form. He had no real case for grievance, anyway. What difference was it to him if Bond stood or sat? His complaint died away in a single, choked syllable. Bond raised an eyebrow and leaned casually against the wall by the fireplace. The warm light of the flames was in stark contrast to the marble coldness of his face. What was it Maxwell had been about to say? 

He paused for a moment, then remembered. "Ah," he cleared his throat; his mouth was suddenly very dry. "Professor McGonagall sent you here because ..." 

"Sorry, professor?" Bond looked up, flicking away some miniscule speck he had been picking from his cloak. "What was that?" 

"Ah ..." Maxwell was momentarily disoriented, but he persisted, finding his disrupted rhythm again. "Professor McGonagall and I feel that you have been, ah, undermining my authority as Head of House." 

"Is that so, professor?" Bond asked, his eyes widening slightly as though in surprise. He put one hand to his face, rubbing his chin thoughtfully with his forefinger. His other hand was tapping the mantle piece with a regular drumming sound. He was gazing at the wall beyond his teacher's left shoulder with fascination. "How could I have failed to notice that?" 

Maxwell had never noticed how tall Bond was before. His mouth had mysteriously lost all moisture. "Prof ..." he swallowed hard, "Professor McGonagall and I felt you need to, ah, well ..." His voice faded away as Bond fixed icy eyes on him. "To, ah ..." 

"I need to what?" Bond seemed genuinely curious; he leaned forward, came slightly closer and studied Maxwell intently. "That you ... that ... you need to stop." Maxwell felt a flush rising and fought to avoid Bond seeing the weakness. The smile was back. Bond was taking genuine pleasure from his teacher's discomfort. But Maxwell felt too disheartened to do anything about it. 

"Dismissed," he said. Bond waited a moment before detaching himself from the wall and slinking silently off into the shadows. 

_Even in your victory, you had to pause to silently gloat a moment, didn't you Bond? Slytherin!_   
  
  
  


* * * 

  
  


The Hogwarts Quidditch season had begun in November, with Hufflepuff defeated by Gryffindor with a margin of two hundred and fifty points. The Hufflepuff team had been lost and demoralised following the murder the previous year of their captain and Seeker, Cedric Diggory. Gryffindor's team, however, had been in fine spirits, excepting their new captain, Harry Potter. Potter, from rumour, had not greatly wanted the position, but was the only team member who could offer any consistency as captain; the other experienced players were all seventh years, and would simply be gone the next year. For this reason, in houses where the position of Quidditch captain was not a prize in power games, seventh years rarely became captain, so Potter was it. 

In spite of their captain's unwillingness, the team had come together and played well. Now it was time for the next match, and the last of the term: Ravenclaw versus Slytherin. There had been no official announcement as to whom Slytherin would be playing as captain, but none of the seventh years had any doubt. There were dark rumours flitting about regarding a near mutiny two years ago, between Flint's supporters and a band of renegades led by Bond. 

It was Raylene and Feena's luck to be sitting near Potter and his band of Gryffindors for the game, in which their friend Melissa was playing Chaser. Because of their place in the stands, they not only got Lee Jordan's commentary, but Fred and George Weasley's tactical analysis of the Slytherin team as a bonus. The six Gryffindors - four Weasleys, Potter, and Granger - were a secretive huddle from the moment they were seated. Every now and then one of them would exclaim in surprise or irritation, and the Ravenclaws could hear what they were saying. Feena was curious; Raylene let her snoop and instead waited expectantly for the match to begin, clutching the banner she and Feena had made for Melissa, giving a goofy grin of exalted expectation into her Ravenclaw scarf. 

"You mean you don't know who Slytherin's playing as captain?" one of the Weasley twins exclaimed. 

"Bond," the other said, arranging his face into a grotesque, over-exaggerated smirk, glaring down his screwed-up nose. "His royal highness, Antony Bond, king of obnoxious brats." 

Raylene gave an appreciative cough of laughter, and Feena beamed. "Mel will love it! Remind me to get him to do it again!" If Raylene had had any food or drink in her mouth, she would have spat it across the back of Ginny Weasley's head in the sharp burst of laughter that exploded from her at the mental image of Melissa's reaction. 

There was some more hurried whispering, with Fred and George saying something earnestly to Potter, making small hand movements in their attempt to get the point across. Soon Potter's voice floated above the rustling leaves of the gossip tree. "If he's so great, why haven't we seen much of him before?" 

"Easy," Feena said with a smug smile. The Gryffindor huddle turned and gawked at her. "I'm not an alien!' she exclaimed, which made them change their expressions so they didn't imply she was. "Fred, George, surely you've heard him whinging to his cronies in class ..." 

A look of pure glee spread across ... was it George's face? "Ah, yes! But Edwards, Flint is so positively unfair," he whined. "He puts me on the reserves bench for no reason ... How could I forget?" he added, laughter in his voice. "Thanks, Feena." 

With that, the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors each went back to their own thoughts and conversations. Feena squinted at her watch, fiddled with the knob which wound it, and said, "They'll be out soon." 

Raylene grinned. "Hurrah for Mel, finally getting on the team!" Feena nodded her agreement, and was about to speak when the seven blue and seven green dots, led by a single Madam Hooch dot, marched out onto the field. 

Lee Jordan commenced his commentary. "And here come the players. There's almost a brand new line-up from both Ravenclaw and Slytherin this year. Both teams have new captains - Ravenclaw plays their Chaser Julian Dreng of sixth year, and Slytherin their Chaser, Antony Bond of seventh." Lee spoke about the other changes to the teams as their members lined up. Raylene could see Melissa standing out on the field with her long hair tied back. Melissa caught Bond's eye, for he was watching her, and tossed her head, flipping her blonde braid over her shoulder. Bond turned his gaze to Dreng, staring at him for a moment before taking his extended hand. 

The balls were released. The players mounted their brooms. There was a tense moment when even the Bludgers seemed to hang motionless in the chill winter breeze. The pitch filled with an expectant silence, that of the school paused in waiting. Raylene clenched her fist around the banner, while Feena sat staring intently at the pitch. The whistle blew. 

With that short, sharp blast, all was chaos. Players jostled for positions, caught in a breakneck dash for the balls. Cho Chang and Draco Malfoy hovered towards the edges of the pitch, watching each other as much as they searched for the Snitch. 

Meanwhile, Melissa had seized possession of the Quaffle and shot off towards the goal posts. She was impeded by the need for some hasty manoeuvres to avoid having her head smashed by a Slytherin-aimed Bludger. Julian Dreng and the fourth year Kristie Sparrowhawk were with her, but so were the Slytherins. Potter and his friends in the stands were whispering at a furious rate. Melissa swerved, ducked, shot higher into the air and passed to Kristie. With the slightest glance at each other, Bond and Chauncey flew straight at the fourth year. She swerved to miss them, and Melissa her team mate shouted something, her face livid. The Slytherins repeated the manoeuvre, and this time in her swerve Kristie was pounded by a Bludger and dropped the Quaffle. A fierce scuffle ensued, the area around the ball being transformed into a flapping flurry of blue and green. 

Chauncey shot out one end, his fellow Slytherins racing behind him. The Ravenclaws were in pursuit. Chauncey rolled to avoid a Bludger and made a stylish pass to his captain almost before he had steadied himself. Bond faced Terry Boot, the Keeper. He aimed, raised the Quaffle, drew his arm back ... and shot down a few metres, passing to Montague. The Keeper was confused for only the briefest moment, but it was sufficient. Feena cursed as the Quaffle sailed through the leftmost goal. The Weasley twins sat with set jaws, glaring at the field. 

It wasn't long before Melissa, Julian, and Kristie had equalised, but Slytherin's early goal seemed to have given them a morale boost, which in turn made them more aggressive, more cohesive than Ravenclaw. Bond could be seen hollering comments at his team and it was unusual for him to have to tell them again. Whatever his personality flaws, he was an undeniably good Quidditch captain. 

Soon Slytherin were up by fifty points. It was obvious even to Raylene, who understood little of Quidditch tactics, that Ravenclaw were becoming increasingly frustrated. She waved her banner harder, screaming encouragement to the point where she knew she'd be hoarse after the game. Julian Dreng called a time out, and the teams took a few minutes to form little huddles on the pitch. Julian looked to be almost pleading with his players, while Bond seemed calm and cool. 

When the brooms rose again, the Ravenclaws were using a new tactic: their Beaters, Darren Royce and Andy McNevin, were working in synchronisation to harangue Slytherin's Chasers. One would belt a Bludger towards a Slytherin, and as the player swerved, the second would send the other Bludger straight into their new path. Several times Chauncey almost found himself thrown from his broom, and his team mates were obviously infuriated. Several nasty fouls had soon been committed against Ravenclaw, resulting in them gaining back some of the gap in penalties. Bond called time out. He looked livid and spent a few minutes speaking furiously to his team members, gesticulating wildly. After that, there were no more fouls. 

Slytherin scored twice more and Ravenclaw once, to bring Slytherin's lead to thirty. Bond took the Quaffle for another shot at goal. Both Ravenclaw Beaters went straight for the Bludgers, just beating the Slytherins to them. Bond was almost ready to shoot. Andy McNevin sent the first Bludger straight at him. He dodged it, cursing, and Feena cheered. Bond was looking around for Darren Royce and the second Bludger, keeping moving to present a more difficult target. He passed to Chauncey. 

Bond never saw the Bludger. In the time between his dodge and his pass, Darren had aimed the Bludger just to his left, and in the eye blink that was the moment between its aiming and arrival, he had moved into its path. With a sharp cracking noise it struck, straight on the back of his head. 

The Quidditch pitch went quiet for a moment. Darren's mouth had dropped open and his club hung limply from his hand. Draco Malfoy was gazing in wide-eyed fear, and Claude Chauncey dropped the Quaffle. Nobody picked it up. There was a deafening silence; it seemed like the whole school was holding its collective breath. Feena and Raylene watched, frozen in mid banner wave. They saw, with a mixture of shock and morbid fascination, Bond swaying for a moment on his broom. Then slowly, excruciatingly slowly, he swayed too far to one side, lost his grip, and fell. 

The life rushed back into the stadium with an onslaught of noise. Professors Talisen and Vellian, closest to the ground, were on the pitch in moments. As Bond hit the ground, there came a ringing, squealing scream from the Slytherin stands. Lee Jordan swore. Vincent Edwards leapt to his feet. And Claude Chauncey, with a cool logic to defy any catastrophe, collected himself and used his Chaser reflexes to capture his fallen captain's broomstick. After all, escaped brooms had a habit of finding the Whomping Willow, and it was a very good broom.   
  
  
  


* * * 

  
  


It was incredible how different the hospital wing looked when you were the visitor, not the patient. Or was it simply the length of time since he had last spent hour upon hour staring at those bare walls? Before, it had always been him lying weak in the bed, and his friends crowded around him, fiddling with the covers, fussing over the pillows. 

Now it was the opposite situation. He was the worrying companion, his friends were in classes, and in the bed ... 

"Remus?" a weak voice quavered from behind him. 

"You're awake." _Lame, Lupin. Trés lame._ That was Sirius' voice speaking in his head, just as it was Sirius' voice drifting from the bed. A voice he had not heard, nor allowed himself to hear for twelve years, from that terrible day in 1981 until he met Sirius again. A voice he had pushed away, refused to accept .... But that was past now. Perhaps neither of them would ever recover from the torment of those years, but at least now ... now, in a time where darkness was ever looming, now at least he had his friends back. All of them, or as many as were still alive. 

Even so, those years would always hold their terror. And now, scarred and damaged, could Remus or any of his companions gather the same strength they had fourteen years ago? As people closer to forty than thirty, could they ever have the same energy, inventiveness and sheer belief in their own invincibility as the bunch of naive, wide-eyed teens they had been the first time around? Voldemort was back, the same as before. Maybe he was even more cunning, for he had had long years with nothing better to do than plot his revenge. But those who were to fight him had grown older. They simply weren't as strong as they had once been. 

As newly emerged ex-students, they had been ready to seize the world which seemed to be luxuriantly laid out before them. But now they knew it was not that easy. The youthful exuberance and optimism had gone; Remus now bore more physical and mental scars from his curse and the years in isolation, and Sirius woke up screaming in the night. What use could they be? Surely it was too much to hope that Voldemort would take his time to make his second rise to power. It had only been time that allowed any sort of resistance, for as Voldemort grew stronger, so did his enemies. But now he knew the deadly game he was initiating. He was ready to play, and his opponents had grown complacent. Remus shivered. 

"Remus?" Sirius' voice was a murmur, only a fragment of what it usually was. 

Remus shoved the disturbing thoughts away, smiling at his friend. "How do you feel?" 

"Just fine, Remus. As wonderful as you normally feel when you've just been dealt an Aconita Draught by Lucius bloody Malfoy." 

Remus felt his smile widen. "You must be fine, Sirius. You're being sarcastic." He dropped his voice. "How do you know it was Malfoy?" 

"I smelt him. If you were there, you might have, too." 

"Why did you touch anything if you could smell him?" 

"He was too bloody devious, that's why. Poisoned the pool out back of the place, didn't he? I didn't imagine he'd think of that. And an odourless poison, too. Peter must have told him I'm an Animagus. Why he hasn't told the Ministry, I don't know. But If I get anywhere near him, he's _dead_." 

Remus didn't bother asking if Sirius meant Malfoy or Pettigrew. It was obviously an either/or situation. Sirius was muttering darkly. In the furious torrent of cursing, Remus caught only a few words. 

"Wolfsbane ... werewolf ..." and something unrepeatable. It had not escaped Remus' attention that the main ingredient in the poison that had almost killed Sirius was the very thing which prevented him from being a ravaging monstrosity once a month. Monk's Hood. Wolfsbane. Aconite. 

Sirius swore, and Remus was inclined to agree with him. Of course, he was used to people targeting him because of his curse, but still ... Malfoy was beyond the norm. 

"I'd forgotten how much I hate Malfoys." Sirius spat with a rough, hacking wheeze. 

Remus felt his eyes widen and fumbled for the antidote. Sirius pulled a face, but gave no resistance as his friend poured the vivid turquoise liquid into his mouth. Remus waited for the wheezing to subside, then hurried out of the room to find Madam Pomfrey. 

Instead, he found Merlin Talisen. 

"Merlin! Where's Poppy?" 

Merlin turned to him, and her expression changed from confused and pensive to warm and welcoming. "It's not serious, is it? She's tending to a Quidditch casualty." 

"No. I just needed to tell her Sirius's had another relapse. He's okay, she just said to tell her when I get a chance if it happened ... " Remus paused for a moment, then frowned. "Is it a Saturday?" 

Merlin gave a slightly lopsided grin. "Yes. Slytherin are currently being slaughtered by Ravenclaw, having lost their captain and tactician to a Bludger in the head. Accidental, of course, and I'm afraid the poor Beater feels quite guilty." 

Memories of his days teaching were stirring in Remus, so he asked who the offending and offended parties were. 

"Well, the offender was good tactics gone slightly wrong and Darren Royce. The casualty was Antony Bond." 

"Quidditch captain, is he?" Remus pondered, mostly to himself. 

"Yes," Merlin replied. "And Head Boy, and much as I hate to say it, the best downright Slytherin bastard since Lucius Malfoy." 

Remus gave a mournful sigh. "That's a shame. I had hoped he'd stray from that path." 

"You've utterly confused our poor dear Defence professor. She can't understand why he's doing it." 

"He took up my invitation? Good." 

"Look." Merlin pointed up the corridor, to where Poppy had appeared. Remus nodded and hurried towards her, suddenly thinking of nothing more than Sirius' condition.   
  
  
  


* * * 

  
  


The end of term was fast approaching. Sirius was making a rapid recovery, with his sense of humour improving every day. Nouvelle had set her class a research task on an Auror and a Death Eater, to be completed over the holidays, and Merlin had come up with what she herself had called "a hare-brained but reasonable scheme." 

Dumbledore had called together those members of his old anti-Voldemort team, and had highlighted to the teachers the need for a focus on protecting students from the current situation. Nouvelle had set her research essay partly because of its place in the course, but also to help the students gain an awareness of what it was they were up against if they ever had to face a Death Eater. 

Merlin had come up with her own idea. She was going to offer an extra afternoon Potions course for her more talented seventh years, dealing mainly with defensive potions and antidotes. She had approached the relevant students after their ordinary lessons, and they were all eager to join the class. She even sought out Antony Bond in the hospital wing, and even he, after some sarcastic and sardonic remarks, agreed. 

On the last weekend of term, she, Remus, and Nouvelle met in the hospital wing to talk to Sirius. Merlin and Remus had taken a short walk just beforehand; most of the students were in Hogsmeade, and those who weren't were curled up in their common rooms by the fireplaces or studying in the library, so they decided to risk it. 

They talked of grand things and of gibberish. Until they had met again when Remus had brought Sirius to Hogwarts for treatment, it had been years since they had spoken, and those years had built hurt and a rift between the two. They had quickly sealed the rift once more. 

All those years ago, none of Lily and James Potter's friends had known how to deal with the terrible things that had happened that Hallowe'en. Mundungus Fletcher and Arabella Figg drifted their own ways, Arabella to keep an eye on Harry, and Mundungus to become known to the Ministry as a first-class rascal. Nouvelle had simply vanished one morning. It was only much later that her friends and family found out she had gone to France. That had not worked out, so she had attempted almost all of Europe, then tried Australia as a home. She had finally settled in Canada, and had lived there until Dumbledore had requested her help as Defence professor. Merlin had simply faded into anonymity and the Muggle world. Remus, however, had disappeared one day, and not been heard from until his appointment at Hogwarts. 

"I was terribly afraid, Merlin, of what the wolf might do," he admitted shamefacedly to her. "I was petrified .... The wolf had so much anger stored away. It was mad at losing its playmates, mad at the world, and mad at me. And my own guilt and shame made it even worse. I couldn't be near anyone I cared for in case of the wolf harming them. And when the wolf finally got over the anger, it was too late. It had been too long, and I was too afraid of what people thought of me." 

"Idiot. No-one would have cared," she told him, staring straight into his eyes. She turned to him, giving a reassuring smile with a terrible twist of sadness. "We all needed our own time, Remus. You most of all, for you had lost ... everyone. We each dealt in our own ways. No-one could blame you for that." 

"I know that now," Remus said in a mournful, even wistful tone. 

They walked in silence until they reached the corridor leading to the lower levels from the hospital wing. Rounding a corner, they came face to face with a student. It took Merlin a moment to recognise him, and when she did, she was rather surprised, for he was behaving in a most unusual way. 

"Professor Lupin!" he exclaimed, a genuine smile flickering across his pale face. 

"Antony," Remus replied, extending a hand. Antony reached out to take it, but hesitated a moment. Then he slipped something from his finger with a glint of silver and extended his own hand. 

Remus smiled. "Removing that is a courtesy your father never bothered to show me." Merlin then saw that Antony had slipped from his finger a familiar object: a silver ring bearing his family crest that his father had worn in his own time at Hogwarts. Remus had a burn scar on his arm from that wretched thing. 

"I am not my father, professor." With that, the boy nodded, and replacing his ring, strode away, not even pausing to sneer at Merlin. 

"Was he always like that to you, Remus?" Merlin asked, incredulous. 

"He's always been courteous, yes," Remus replied.   
"That's strange. To me he's nothing but an obnoxious spoilt brat of a Slytherin." 

"He was like that to everyone else." But Remus' tone was vague and Merlin realised whatever the reason for Bond's behaviour, she was not going to get it from Remus. 

Sirius and Nouvelle were already waiting for them when they appeared. It did not take long for the four of them to launch into all sorts of conversation, dealing with everything from the serious matter of Voldemort's rise to the frivolous gossip that was social life at Hogwarts. Only one thing was not mentioned, and that was by unspoken but mutual consent: those fourteen years of pain and loneliness.   
  
  
  


* * * 

  
  


The last patrol of term was awkward to make an understatement. The winter weather had truly struck, and Hogwarts was in the midst of a snowstorm. The glimpses of white swirls scurrying past as Raylene and her Hufflepuff companion trudged by the windows, cloaks pulled tight around themselves, was enough to make them feel even colder. 

Conversation was stilted, and neither girl was focusing much on their patrol, but rather on the two weeks of blissful break which lay before them, or getting back to their own warm common rooms. Raylene yawned, pulled off her glasses, and rubbed her eyes. What an isolated job this was. Admittedly, there were teachers patrolling, as well as the Slytherin/Gryffindor patrol of Claude Chauncey and Robert McAlban (if their house rivalry hadn't led them to kill each other yet), but in the cold midnight, there could just as well have been no-one else for miles. 

It was the sort of thing that made you think, patrolling. Especially since nothing ever happened on patrol. Thinking was exactly what Raylene was doing as she made for the Ravenclaw common room at a few minutes after midnight. Thankfully the snow had stopped, and there was some faint light drifting through the windows. 

She was planning how to get her holiday homework done whilst allowing time for Christmas and other such happenings when she saw a dark silhouette almost hidden in the shadows, with moonlight falling across its shoulders and its head bowed. She would have stepped forward to see if she needed to use her patrolling authority after all, but something stopped her. 

Whether it was the exquisite, ethereal elegance of the figure, or the sense of sadness that seeped into her soul, or perhaps the sudden feeling that she had no place interrupting this solitude, she could not tell. She was about to turn and leave when a quiet voice drifted towards her from the figure. 

"How old are you, Raylene?" The voice held a hidden emotion in it, unrecognisable, but noticeable. It took Raylene some time to place it, but the figure turned a little in the moonlight and she recognised its face: Antony's. 

She felt a shiver down her spine. Frightened as the thought made her, she knew that she needed to realise that Antony was dangerous. How long had her parents spent telling her, ensuring it was carved on her memory, the dangers of Dark wizards? What could he be thinking, standing alone in the moonlight? 

"Why do you ask?" she said, a hint of suspicion in her voice. 

"No reason." He sighed, and Raylene felt her heart again twisted by the same feeling of intense sorrow and sadness she had felt when she first came across him. 

She had no idea why Antony was asking this; he had never paid any real attention to her as a person before. But there was something about his melancholy, perhaps the dejected hunch of his shoulders or the slight bowing of his head, that made her answer. 

"Eighteen in April." 

"I'm sixteen. Seventeen on January fifth." He returned to staring out the window. But it was not his usual rude dismissal, nor did it make Raylene feel despised and slighted as such treatment usually would. 

He was thinking, and had said all he needed or wanted to. He was not in an evil mind, but instead a thoughtful and mournful one. She didn't pretend to understand, but instead just stood and watched him for a while. 

He must have thought her long gone, for in his elegant carved marble profile she saw tiny gleams of moisture on his cheek. He closed his eyes with a hissing breath that sounded almost tearful, put his face in his hands and swore. It was not an angry cursing, rather one of frustration and sheer misery. Two words drifted clearly from him to where Raylene stood. 

"Why me?" 

With that, Raylene turned. She couldn't understand why she felt so dismayed by what she had seen, yet she could understand now why she had been compelled to watch him. She had seen a new Antony Bond, for in the place of the cold, sarcastic sadist there had been a sixteen-year-old boy. And that final moment in the moonlight had shown her more than even that. In that glimpse, she had seen that not only was he merely a boy, but he was alone. Alone, miserable, and terribly vulnerable.   
  
  
  


* * * 


	5. The Induction

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the characters, places or situations of the Harry Potter universe, they belong to that wonderful woman, J. K. Rowling, Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books and Bloomsbury Publishing Plc. 

I am making no money. I'm only playing! 

"To thine own self be true" belongs to William Shakespeare, like so many things Antony says: this time 'tis from _Hamlet_, act 1, scene ii, line 65. 

"Remember, if the time should come when you have to make a choice between what is right, and what is easy" is from Rowling, J. K., _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (First Australian Edition)_, Bloomsbury Publishing Plc, London, 2000, page 628. 

**Author's Note:** This chapter started it all ... 

**Warning: **This fic has been a nice little play in the sunshine so far. Here that ends. As of now, this fic becomes dark and angst-ridden. It is either a strong PG-13 or an R. 

I have changed the rating for the following reasons:   
Darkness   
Angst   
Adult themes   
Disturbing psychological content eg suicide themes   
Drug use   
Violence (but nothing overly graphic) 

You have been warned. Have a happy fic ready to read after this.   


  


**Chapter 5: The Induction**

"_Remember, if the time should come when you have to make a choice between what is right, and what is easy..._"   
Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

  
  


_Seventeen. I'm seventeen. Yesterday was my birthday. If you're a wizard, your seventeenth birthday is supposed to be a great event in your life. It is, after all, the day on which you are considered to be adult - you can perform magic outside of school, take your Apparition test or compete in the Triwizard Tournament._

_But there were no riotous celebrations for me. No party, no joy. In spite of all the extra privileges I gained, yesterday was the worst day of my life._

_You probably think I'm being melodramatic. The harsh reality is that I'm not. Everyone says that being seventeen feels no different to being sixteen. It's one of the big arguments they use for saying underage wizards should have more rights. But it's not true. Not for me, anyway._

_I wonder what people would say if they knew ... "Dumbledore's made another big mistake, he's too trusting." "What kind of fool gives a Death Eater's son a Head Boy badge?" "No-one should ever have trusted that Bond child ..."_

_But would there be some who asked "Why did such a nice boy go so badly wrong?" For I was nice, once._

_I'm not "gone wrong". I'm just not right. But with my perfect Slytherin pedigree, how could I be? All right, it's not perfect. There are Gryffindors on my maternal grandmother's side, but no-one talks about them. Especially not Lucius. The last thing he wants is to be reminded that I'm Sirius Black's cousin. Not when I'm the perfect son he never had._

_Draco disappoints his father so. Hermione Granger beats him in every exam, and as an added bonus, he's a stupid little coward. Oh, the disgrace to the Malfoy name. But really, who cares? Not me. But then, I'm Lucius' favourite. Pity for him I'm not his son. Shame he doesn't know what I'm going through now. Oh, what a shame. What would his reaction be if he found out?_

_In simple terms, he'd probably kill me. He's an evil, evil man. Just imagine his little cousin, top of the year, twelve O.W.L.s, Head Boy, Quidditch player, perfect Slytherin, a traitor to the family name. Well, it's not his name I'd be disgracing._

_It's my father's. My father, who has played such an important role in my life, but whom I don't even know. It's funny, isn't it? I haven't seen him since I was three. I still have diamond-sharp memories of the courtroom that day. I was too young to understand, but gradually I learned that my father was a terribly evil man, and because of that he was never going to come home. But I didn't really learn that until he died._

_He deserved Azkaban. No matter how loving a father he was, he was still a murderer. I can see that, finally, after so many years of indecision and uncertainty. And after many hours in the Hogwarts library, reading old copies of the _Daily Prophet. 

_It may seem callous and cold, but I thoroughly agree with the jury's decision. Even if my father died three years later. I know I'm his only son, and thinking such things about your own father is a shocking thing to do, but he murdered countless Muggles and supporters of light, for no reason other than that they stood between Lord Voldemort and world domination. Or even because they were in the wrong place when he was in a bad mood. I can't feel sorry for what happened to him. But I do._

_I've never told anyone any of this. No-one thinks my family is a pressure on me, but the constant stress, being torn between "to thine own self be true" and Lucius - I don't know how long I can take it. And there's no-one I can say that to. I have no true friends, you see, only Slytherin cronies and acquaintances I've made as Head Boy. Except Edwards, of course, but I couldn't even tell him, because the slightest mistake could destroy my image and undo all my work trying to appear to conform. And that would kill me. Slowly and painfully. I hate being so secretive, but it's the only way. Confused and alone, I've been looking for a way out._

_That's why I did it yesterday; there was nothing else, no way of remaining true to myself. To die is the ultimate betrayal of all I have worked for. I've lost so much in my life. I can't lose me. But in saving myself in the literal way, have I destroyed myself emotionally, morally? Looking at the hideous mark on my arm, feeling the bruises on my shoulder and the pain whenever my tongue brushes my lip, I wonder if perhaps I have. Maybe I should have resisted. Maybe I should have died._

_There _is_ a way in which I am like the perfect Slytherin, identical in truth to my lies. I am a total coward, afraid toincur Lucius' wrath, yet terribly afraid of the choice I have just made. Now is the very winter of my discontent, to modify Shakespeare. And there are no sons of York to turn it into summer. Life's been growing steadily worse for me this year, ever since Voldemort's resurrection. And after yesterday, the very worst day of all, there's no end in sight..._

Antony Bond lay silently in his bed, staring at the ceiling. He could hear his mother downstairs, and the house elf, Kilby, was preparing breakfast, judging by the smells drifting upstairs to him. He had woken to a sick uncertainty and almost consuming fear, and nothing he did could quell it, or even lessen it. The morning of his seventeenth birthday was a landmark. One way or another. 

He lay, the turbulent emotions swirling inside him, then with considerable effort, forced himself to push them to back of his mind, along with the thoughts that accompanied them. Today was going to be a good day. He deserved a good day at last, after almost seven years of being the perfect Slytherin. But while the fears were content to be pushed aside, they would not be totally dismissed. 

He groaned in misery and rolled over. The clock on the wall said that it was fairly late. He would not have been allowed the luxury of sleeping in if it wasn't his birthday. He sighed, slid out of bed and surveyed himself in the mirror. He needed to do something with his hair. The black curls were disorganised and messy. _Can't risk my perfectionist image now, can I? _Antony thought wryly, making for the shower, ignoring the gaunt, grey terror he had seen on his own face. 

A quarter of an hour later, he finally made it downstairs, his hair wet and the sleep driven from his pale blue eyes. Excitement was beginning to course through him, but the fear was still there, grinning evilly from the back corner of his mind. Now he was downstairs, there could be no avoiding it, for he was going to have to discover his fate eventually. 

He began searching for his mother, some of his boyish eagerness returning as his excitement grew stronger. He mentally cursed the fear for marring his morning. After all, it was his birthday. 

He found her in the formal lounge room. 

"Hello, darling," she said sweetly, smiling broadly. "Happy birthday." 

Antony smiled and stepped forward, but stopped abruptly as a figure rose from a chair by the fireplace and turned, cold smile directed at him. The fear struck, swooping across him, making him feel weak. He knew the colour was draining from his face, and fought to regain his composure. 

"Good morning, Antony," Lucius Malfoy said. Antony couldn't help feeling that the man had seen his unguarded moment. He took a deep breath. 

"Lucius," he said, nodding slightly, forcing his voice to remain steady. Y_ou can't go slipping up like that in front of Lucius!_ he thought frantically, although inwardly, the fear was almost driving him insane. Antony made his lips move into a slight smile. Lucius acknowledged it with the slightest nod, and Antony relaxed. Slightly. 

Alarm bells were sounding inside his head. If Lucius was here this early, it must mean... _No! I'm not ready to choose! _the thoughts screamed in Antony's mind. _I don't know! I haven't had enough time!_

"Antony," Lucius said coldly. "You are taking your Apparition test today." His tone told Antony that there would be no argument. If Lucius wanted him to legally Apparate, then it was all over. The choice would have to be made. The terror subsided and became a heavy, sick certainty weighing down his soul. 

As Antony ate his breakfast and opened the gifts his mother presented to him, his thoughts were far away. This was it. All his deliberation and discussion with Dumbledore had come to nothing. The time to choose had come, and he wasn't ready. But how could anyone be ready for this? He was only seventeen! Too young to choose such a life, and too young for the alternative .... 

How could he make such an important decision so quickly? He knew he couldn't, and for a moment, he felt like a lost child for the first time in years. Always, he had been mature and, under the pressure of his family, he had grown up quickly. But now, he had no-one to consult. He would have been glad even for the chance to speak with Harry Potter or Hermione Granger, Gryffindors that they were. He would have given anything to consult with Professor Dumbledore once more. 

When Antony had finished, Lucius took him by the shoulder. Antony had to force himself not to recoil from that hated touch. He set his face in an impassive mask, hiding all feelings. For now, feelings could well be death. 

"Are you coming, Andromeda?" he asked. Antony's mother nodded, a proud smile that made her son feel sick spreading across her face. Lucius led Antony out of the house, and, against his will, he followed, despair filling him. There was no way he could refuse. And he had a horrible feeling he would be unable to stand up to Lucius later in the day, when it mattered most. 

*** 

Antony passed his Apparition test easily. His mother beamed at him, and Lucius gave a pleased smile that did not reach his cold grey eyes. But then, no smile ever did; his smiles were a liar's smiles. 

As Antony returned to his mother and cousin, his heart sank. Now was the moment of judgment. A faint ray of hope shone through the dark despair inside him, that maybe he had misinterpreted Lucius' actions, but somehow he knew what his cousin was going to say next. It was an idiotic hope. He knew Lucius too well for that. 

They Apparated back to the Bond Estate. Once they were back inside the house, Lucius turned to his cousin with a cold smile creeping across his face. 

"Well, Antony," he said slowly. His tone struck fear into Antony's heart, and quelled all hope he had. "The time has come for you to make a choice." The smile was turning nasty, and the expression on his cousin's face unnerved Antony. "Everything has been set in motion once more. I wonder, will you take the opportunity of glory and victory, or will you refuse? 

"Will you join us, Antony?" Antony could tell by the look on Lucius' face that he would not accept refusal lightly. So now, it had come to this. 

Antony stood, fear rooting him to the spot. He couldn't refuse, but he couldn't join, either. How could he go against everything he had been taught at Hogwarts, and betray the confidence of Professor Lupin, who had trusted him enough to recommend him for Advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts? 

Terrified and undecided, Antony cast his mind back to the discussion he had had with Dumbledore at the end of the term. 

_"There may be a way," the headmaster had said, "of remaining true to yourself, but still satisfying Lucius' demands. However," and Antony could still remember the penetrating glance Dumbledore had given him, "it would be highly dangerous and require someone of great courage. I cannot tell you what to do, Antony, but I have the utmost faith in you."_

But what was it that he could do? There was no way .... To defy Lucius would be death. The memories that were even now pushing at the edge of Antony's mind for attention proved that. He recalled the last time he had seen Lucius' fury ... and knew. There was only one thing to do, one way to keep his wretched, cowardly self alive. 

"I will join you," he said, his voice trembling with fear and suppressed emotion, and hating himself for every word. _What am I doing?_ he wondered to himself, as Lucius shook his hand and congratulated him. But inside, he knew. 

_I'm selling my soul to Voldemort._

*** 

Lucius, Antony and Andromeda Apparated together into the shadowy dark of the Death Eaters' meeting place. There was horror in the air; horror, laced with the most insidious danger. It was there, but elusive, only definable to those who truly knew what danger was. Like Antony. 

He watched, sick with feelings of guilt and fear, as Lucius approached the terrible figure of Lord Voldemort. 

"I have brought him, my Lord," he said softly. Antony could feel the hairs on the back of his own neck rising. Voldemort was the epicentre of the danger in the place. Tall and skeletal, with white flesh and red eyes, he was everything from Antony's worst nightmares. And beyond. 

The presence of such a powerful Dark wizard sent horrible shivers up Antony's spine. He felt his shoulder blades contract with a shudder and forced himself to relax. Even to someone used to the presence of Lucius Malfoy, Lord Voldemort was truly terrible, his dark aura menacing. As Antony watched, horrified, the Dark Lord spoke. 

"Bring him before me, Lucius." Voldemort's voice was cold and high-pitched. It sent a myriad of images of cold, evil things floating in front of Antony's eyes. Snakes were prominent, not only because of Lord Voldemort's facial resemblance to one, but also because of his icy, hissing voice. 

Lucius returned to Antony, and gripped his right shoulder, forcing him forwards. His feet wouldn't move, and he almost fell, but he forced himself to move his legs at the last moment, saving himself. Each step took the same amount of effort; his body seemed unwilling to do such a thing as that which he was about to do. Every step closer to Lord Voldemort seemed to Antony to be one step nearer to a terrible doom. 

Finally Lucius allowed him to stop. He was bare metres from Voldemort, looking into his red eyes, livid in the white face. The Dark Lord began to question Antony, coldly and ruthlessly. 

The interrogation that followed was the most terrible of Antony's life. Each time Lord Voldemort asked him a question, he felt himself being compelled by some powerful force to look into the snake-like eyes. He fought to keep his feelings of revulsion and his hatred of his own choice hidden. The best way was to not think about them. One slip would be fatal. 

So, whenever Voldemort asked him a question, he replied promptly and with as much honesty as he could, all the time feeling that those red slits could read his mind, and bare his soul. By the time Lord Voldemort was satisfied, he was trembling inwardly, and fighting to keep an outward appearance of strength. 

_You must impress him!_ Voldemort gave a high, cruel laugh, as if he had heard Antony's thought. Could he read minds? 

"Lucius," Voldemort said, turning his red, malevolent gaze behind Antony's shoulder. "Do you sponsor this boy, Antony Bond, into the Order of the Death Eaters?" 

Lucius's grip tightened convulsively on Antony's shoulder. 

"I do, my Lord," he said softly. 

"Bring him to me." 

Lucius forced Antony forward again. Antony was vaguely aware of his mother behind his left shoulder, but nothing was important beyond Lord Voldemort's gaze. It held him, drawing him forward with some mysterious power, and once more he had the feeling that the Dark Lord was searching his thoughts. 

"Give me his arm." From behind Antony's left shoulder, Andromeda grabbed his arm, offering it to her lord. His own mother, an obedient minion of this ... serpent. Voldemort reached out and pushed up the sleeve of Antony's robe. Antony felt a shiver run through him as Voldemort touched his arm. The touch was icy cold, and the cold was not just on the surface - it penetrated deep, piercing even his heart. Every muscle was screaming in warning. 

Voldemort took his wand and pressed the tip to the skin of Antony's forearm. The next moment, Antony felt a burning pain so intense that he recoiled involuntarily. He silenced the scream that has risen in his throat just before it escaped, biting his own lip. Lucius dug his fingers into Antony's shoulder, his grip cutting so sharply into the boy's flesh that Antony felt sure it could almost crush bone. 

Tears sprang to his eyes, but he did not scream, if only because he was now biting his lip so hard that the harsh, metallic taste of blood rushed into his mouth. _You must impress him! You cannot lose control!_ But it was almost too much for him to bear. Hoping for anything to distract him from the white-hot pain, Antony focused all his thoughts on the pain in his shoulder and mouth, forcing himself to think of Lucius' harsh grip and not the pain like a thousand hot knives were cutting into the skin of his forearm, forcing all his reactions into his teeth on his lip. 

Finally, it ended. Weak and trembling, Antony would have collapsed were Lucius' grip not so tight. Laughing coldly, Voldemort removed his wand from Antony's arm. 

"Yes. Impressive, Bond." With that, he signalled to Lucius to take the boy away. Antony let Lucius drag him from the midst of his new comrades, stumbling. He had recoiled. He had shown weakness. Lucius would be livid. 

When he finally returned home, the boy excused himself from Lucius' presence. He ran up the stairs to his bed and, confused and alone, he wept. Wept for his lost innocence, for his soul, for the pain he had been unable to show. 

*** 

_Yes. The very worst day. Ever since, I've been able to think of nothing else. At least now I can look at the mark on my arm without flinching. The ugly, terrible mark, disfiguring my skin. The symbol of my lost innocence, my lost soul, my lost pride and self-esteem. For now, I am no better than them. Maybe I have the best of reasons. Maybe not. Either way, it's still the same. Whether by some miracle I find a way to stop this destroying me by shattering my morals like a crystal glass, or whether I turn into a common killer like Lucius and my father, it still remains the same._

_I've sold my soul to Voldemort. And he is a demanding master._


	6. The Voices of the Past

**Disclaimer: **The situations, places, and people of the Harry Potter world do not belong to me. I am not, nor do I claim to be, affiliated with or authorised by J. K. Rowling, AOL Time Warner, or any of the various publishers of Harry Potter (including Bloomsbury Publishing Plc and Scholastic Books). The aforementioned are fortunate enough to own Harry Potter. I'm not. I'm just a fan.

The quote at the start of the chapter is from "Coward of the County" by Roger Bowling and Billy Ed Wheeler, published by Roger Bowling Music/Sleepy Hollow Music Co. It's from the album "Kenny", by Kenny Rogers, published by Razor and Tie Records in 1981. Thanks to Coquet-Shack for providing me with that information (at last!) after much searching.

As always, Merlin Talisen is on loan from the marvellous TQ.

**Author's Note:** Just two short notes from me this time. I was most thrilled to receive an email from noodles one day asking me to look over a piece of fanart she'd drawn. It's Antony from the end of chapter 4, and it's fantastic!

The second thing is that those of you interested in the relationship between Antony and Remus may like to read "Anomalies", a short fic which explains it somewhat.

**Chapter 6: The Voices of the Past**

_"Promise me son, not to do the things I've done."  
_Kenny Rogers, Coward of the County

Eventually sometime in that long, tortured night, Antony, his pain numbed somewhat by the lulling repetition of his tears, had fallen into a deep sleep. When he awoke, it was late morning. He had been allowed to sleep longer than he normally would have; maybe his mother was proud of his achievements the previous day. He lay awake, staring blankly at the ceiling, doing his best not to let his horror at what he had done overwhelm him. Rising waves of sick panic kept threatening to drown him, for no matter how he viewed it, his situation was the same. He was now one of the most hated and feared people in modern wizarding society. What he had done the day before was not only illegal in the severest way, but morally wrong. And there was no erasing the decision; nothing, not even a Time-Turner, could help him.

With a _mraow_, Makalu leapt from the floor onto Antony's feet. Glad for the distraction, Antony dragged himself from his thoughts and seized his cat. She purred as, like a child would his favourite stuffed toy, Antony buried his face in the animal's iron grey fur, fingers stroking her head, arms wrapped around her. _Mraow_, she offered again.

He was unsure how long he lay with Makalu his only companion. Finally, the cat's tolerance grew low and she wriggled in her owner's arms. Antony released her, and she leapt to the floor and began licking her fur. He dragged himself out of bed and dared a look in the mirror.

A blurry image of misery gazed back at him, the face painfully thin. The blue eyes had rims of red and the tracks of the previous night's tears were visible down the cheeks. There were smudges of darkness under the eyes, and a gaunt, haunted look in the face that betrayed Antony's lack of sleep.

He turned from the mirror, grabbed a robe and hurried away. He emerged from the bathroom with his hair damp and his face fresh but his spirits in the dark depths of misery. He searched for his mother, but she was not to be found. He stuck his head into the kitchen.

"Kilby!"

The house-elf's head appeared almost instantly from the pantry.

"Yes, Master Antony?" the head asked, wide green eyes blinking at him.

"Where is my mother?" Antony replied in a formal, slightly strained tone.

Kilby emerged fully from the pantry carrying a plate which she handed to Antony. "Mistress Andromeda is visiting with Mistress Narcissa."

_Wonderful,_ thought Antony. He certainly wasn't going to have anything to do with _her_ that morning. He thanked Kilby and swept from the room.

Once in the hallway, he stared at the plate the house-elf had given him. Scowling, he thumped it onto a decorative table. He couldn't eat with his stomach in such a mass of writhing guilt and revulsion.

He slid up his robe sleeve and stared at the repulsive mark. He had hoped, somewhere in the recesses of his mind that hadn't been purged of childish dreams, that maybe the events of the previous day had been an horrific nightmare or that somehow he had been washed clean by the night's tears But such hopes were childish and to no avail. He remained branded, his soul stained by the same mark that stood livid against his otherwise flawless white skin. He pulled his sleeve down and stormed away. He couldn't change what he had done yesterday, not without a Time-Turner or potent Dark magic. And the longer he moped about it, the more his negative feelings would escalate. He couldn't improve his situation if he was overwhelmed by self pity. _So practical_, he thought as he let his feet wander. It was difficult to keep a grip on sanity and practicality when every thought came back to the eerie scene of the previous day, the destruction of innocence.

_You think too much. Such men are dangerous._ He allowed himself a brief smile at the quote and the way the words, _Act I, scene ii, line 195, in _Julius Caesar_,_ sprang to his mind unbidden. Despite his display to Talisen, there were only a few quotes he could do that with, mostly famous ones or lines from his particular favourite plays.

He paused, shaking his head. Moping around the house achieved nothing. He breathed deeply, then turned in a swirl of black. And paused. He found himself outside a door rarely opened, a room that had not seen use in fourteen years. His father's study. He gazed at the door with its faint carvings of magical creatures twined amongst and fighting each other. He reached for the handle, but his hand wavered centimetres from the knob, trembling. To open the door would be to face the past he had chosen to shove aside, forget, suppress.

But he couldn't run from his father forever, and now he was seventeen he was technically lord of the manor. He knew his mother had done nothing to address the issue of upkeep of the estate. The man in charge of his father's financial affairs had been in Azkaban for some time, arrested on charges of bribery which quickly became more serious charges of Death Eater activity. Antony decided he may as well attempt to go through his father's papers.

The room was spotless. Kilby was a dedicated, hardworking servant, and not even a room which had been unused for so long had a trace of dust. But it had an atmosphere of long disuse, and prior to that, misuse; the air was stuffy and musty, but under that was a ... darkness, an intangible feeling of dread. It was only because he was so used to the darker atmosphere of Malfoy Manor that he could identify that same feeling and put a name to it: the Dark Arts.

Antony cursed the dimness of the room, then remembered that yesterday hadn't simply been a loss of innocence, but also a coming of age, and as such he was now freed of restrictions on underage wizardry. He flicked his wand and the torches and fireplace sprang into flame, revealing the room in its full grandeur. The far wall was lined with shelves, each filled with thick leather bound books. Antony didn't bother to examine them; he had no doubt they held either family history or Dark magic texts. (Not, he reflected, that there was a great deal of difference between the two.)

In the final hectic months of Voldemort's rise to power, the Ministry had been too preoccupied to bother searching out evidence of the Dark Arts in a case so clear-cut as his father's; there was little debate over the guilt or sentencing of a man who had performed Unforgivables in front of two eyewitnesses the Department of Magical Law Enforcement trusted. They had been content to simply throw him into Azkaban for life and move on to the next case. No doubt they would have eventually investigated the house had it not been for the uproar caused by Voldemort's eventual demise. Because of this, the papers on the deeply polished desk which flickered deep mahogany in the firelight lay in the neatly organised piles they had been left in the last time Jorman Bond had touched them, fourteen years previously.

Antony moved closer to the desk, marvelling at how it had been frozen in time; the papers lay as though their owner had merely left them when he went out for the day. He had, Antony reflected, but that day had been fourteen years ago. Antony stood for a moment, staring. It was as though his father had only left yesterday, except for the feeling of disuse. He slowly sat at the desk and reached for one of the pieces of parchment stacked so neatly. He felt himself overwhelmed by a surge of sudden emotion. Had his father been the last man to touch the parchment he now held? He found himself imagining his father in the same place, reading the same document, with the same things on the desk, the same flickering firelight, but fourteen years ago.

Antony covered his face with his hand for a moment, then sighed and reached for another document. The papers were mostly written in a loose, flowing hand, with a signature and name Antony recognised as those of his father's trusted solicitor Marcus Randall, the man who had risked so much to have his father released, and been thrown in Azkaban for Death Eater activities. His mistake, Antony remembered, had been the Malfoy family trick of attempting to bribe Ministry officials. He had not been quite a Malfoy-quality lawyer however, and had failed in his attempt to influence the judgement on Jorman Bond's crimes.

Some time later, Antony knew the task he had undertaken would be more difficult than he had realised. None of the financial affairs of the manor had been touched in years. He sighed and searched for a parchment, ink, and quill to record the task ahead. There was none on the desk, so he reached for the drawer, pausing just a moment as he was hit once again by emotion. He pulled it open and picked up a quill, doing his best to ignore the image of his father's hand closing around the same quill. He searched through the drawer and extracted an ink bottle and parchment. As he did so, his hand brushed cold wax. He glanced down and saw an envelope, sealed with the family crest. Curiosity piqued, he flipped it over and saw, written across the front in an efficient, elegant script: _Andromeda and Antony._ He pulled it from the drawer. It felt strangely heavy, and there were three hard, thin objects in it. He frowned, reached into his pocket and took out the silver handled pocket knife that had belonged to his father. He used it occasionally to cut ingredients for potions. Where his father had acquired such a Muggle object, he didn't know, but it was invariably useful.

He used it to slit open the envelope, and pulled out two sheets of parchment. Then he removed three golden keys. He unfolded the first sheet of parchment and felt once more his father's presence, for surely it was he who had written this letter, and sealed it so carefully.

_Andromeda darling,_

_  
I suppose the mere fact that you are reading this means that my fears and suspicions have come to be. While my Master is still gaining power, the Ministry grows more vigilant. We may win; we have the power, the ability, and the numbers. But I feel the forces of Crouch, Dumbledore, and your cursed uncle may prove too strong._

_Should my fears be realised, Randall has copies of my legal documents, the originals of which are in Gringotts vault number 596. The key is enclosed. The other two keys are to vaults I have prepared for you and Antony, numbers 608 and 698. The money therein will suffice for some time._

_Please know that I love you both with all my heart. I only hope I may live to see our boy grow. Please give the enclosed letter to him on his sixteenth birthday. Keep him away from Lucius._

_With love,_

_Jorman_

Trembling, Antony unfolded the second letter.

_My sweet son,_

_If you are reading this, I know that all has been lost for me; I am imprisoned or dead, perhaps both. It is my greatest wish to see you grow into the intelligent, talented wizard I know you will be._

_Antony, do not make the same mistakes that I have made. Do not allow your choices to be influenced by others. I am in a position where I fear I will not live much longer. Dumbledore and your great-uncle know too much, and the Order of the Phoenix are growing better organised, stronger. I am in this position because I chose this path; I do not regret it. But I am trapped, Antony, and was drawn in too deeply before I realised exactly what I had chosen to do._

_Do not allow yourself to become the same. There are those who will expect you to follow their paths, because I know you will be a powerful wizard. Do not let them choose for you. Do not follow a path set by Lucius Malfoy. I was willing to be his protégé, but he is a man who will twist anyone to do his will. Do not allow yourself to be twisted by him. If you choose his path, let it be of your own free will._

_With love,_

_Your father._

Antony let the parchment slip from his unresisting hand to the desk. _Good Lord_. His father had known. He had fallen into Lucius's clutches himself. And if only someone had taken the time to check his documents, to even _glance_ in the desk of his drawer, to do _anything_, then Antony's stupid mother would have bloody well known and stopped the same thing happening to her son ....

He slammed his trembling hand down on the surface of the desk. The wood gave a deep _thud_, Antony's frustration muted by the timber. His father's words raced through his mind .... _Do not allow yourself to be twisted by him ... let it be of your own free will .... _The words swam through his head, screaming the unfairness of the world. He clapped his hands over his ears, and his head sank onto the desk. His cheek against the cold wood, he gazed at the bookshelf's flickering shape until his vision blurred and swam and he gave in to the burning tears.

* * *

  
Leaving the letter addressed to his mother in her room with a simple note that said, _I have my letter and the keys_, Antony stormed from the house, bitter self-pity and fury filling his mind.

"I'll be back much later, Kilby!" he shouted as he left, slamming the front door to the best of his ability. He strode to the limits of the wards and Apparated to London.

The three keys jingled in his pocket as he entered the marble magnificence that was Gringotts. He presented the keys to a leering goblin and endured the sickening lurching of the cart ride to the first vault. It held an assortment of yellowed documents, their black ink fading. He knelt and examined them, leafing through the old sheets of parchment. He put his head in one hand and swore. Everything was there: will, legal certificates, financial records fourteen years out of date .... He felt bitter bile rising. Sick with anger and overwhelmed by the unfairness of it, he slammed his hand into the wall, not noticing the jolting pain that shot up his arm. If these documents were right, his life need never have taken this cursed path.

Visits to the other two vaults reinforced the bitterness, setting it in stone to sit in the pit of his stomach. The vaults were piled high with gold, the missing part of Jorman Bond XXIV's fortune. Antony filled a small pouch with Galleons and after another lurching cart ride which he did not even notice in his foul mood, emerged into the winter day. The weak sun shone through gaps in the clouds, but its cheer and warmth were lost on Antony.

He sat outside Florean Fortescue's, scowling into his ice cream. He swore again, softly but bitterly. Lucius need never have come into his life. For Antony could remember a heated argument he had once heard between his mother and grandmother just after his maternal grandfather's death.

_"Well, Andromeda, now you can keep Lucius Malfoy away from you son," his grandmother said, her voice holding a choked anger. "Although I suppose you prefer only to think of the money your father left you, not the good you could do Antony with it!"_

_"Mother," his mother snapped, "Lucius has lent us support and guidance. I at least have the grace to be grateful for it."_

_"'Lent' support is right, Andromeda! No Malfoy does anything for free. No matter how much he may 'care' about you and Antony, Lucius never gave money out of the kindness of the piece of stone he calls his heart!"_

_"Then why does he donate to charity?" Andromeda spat. "May I remind you, mother, that I was desperate? My husband's money vanished when he went to prison! I had nothing to raise my son with!"_

_"Because you squandered the money you had with not a thought to the future! You could have asked me! I would have done anything to stop that murdering Death Eater scum having anything to do with my grandson."_

_"GET OUT!"_

_Antony's grandmother swept from the room. Sitting in the hallway, drawn by the sound of raised voices, her grandson frowned, not quite understanding all he had heard._

Her grandson understood now. He understood that Lucius had only been allowed into his life because the precautions his father took to ensure he was provided for had backfired. He understood that his father's fortune had vanished because showing considerable foresight and knowing his plight, Jorman Bond had arranged for most of his money to be placed in vaults for his son and wife, insuring against confiscation by the Ministry, loss of his will ... anything but Andromeda's foolishness.

Showing no financial management and too grief-stricken to look through her husband's papers, she had continued to spoil herself and her son. Poor financial management of the manor and extravagant spending had left her facing financial disaster. How much aid Lucius had given, Antony did not know. But he did know the price, a price Lucius had never mentioned: the filthy mark on Antony's arm.

He abandoned his half-finished ice cream and rose. Not caring where his feet led him, he wandered aimlessly for some time. He gazed idly into shop windows, bitterness sinking into his soul and throwing him into despondency. He wandered into and out of shops, making the occasional purchase, but without paying much attention to what he was doing. As he passed Eeylops, the birds ruffled their feathers, hooted, blinked, and regarded him.

He would need an owl to communicate with Lucius, he realised with a grimace. He entered the shop and was greeted by hundreds of glittering eyes regarding him. A chorus of hoots and screeches met his ears as he glanced lazily around. A rich smell of warm feathers filled his nostrils. There were fluffy creatures that would fit on his hand, tawny owls blinking slowly at him, snowy owls with their plumage white as summer clouds, barn owls letting out chilling screams .... He moved slowly through the shop, regarding these birds and more, until he stopped in front of one. It greeted him with an unblinking orange gaze. The bird was enormous, one of the largest in sight. Its throat and chest were cream and brown marked, and its feathers brown with pale bars. It regarded Antony for another moment before moaning, "Woo-hoo," in a low, mournful voice. Antony smiled.

"I know how you feel," he said. A sales assistant hurried from behind the counter to speak to him.

"Ah, sir, a fine bird, isn't she?" she said, gesturing at the bird. "The powerful owl, _ninox strenua_. They're native to the east coast of Australia. This is a fairly young bird; she may not even be fully grown yet."

"Thank you," Antony said, studying the owl. She blinked her bright eyes and emitted another slow hoot. "What's her temperament like?"

"She's a very shy bird. She's not very noisy, and provided you keep her fed, she's happy."

"What does she eat?"

"She'll eat any owl food, but in the wild they eat small mammals and medium-sized birds."

Antony nodded. "Ferrets?" he asked, smirking.

The saleswoman paused for a moment at his expression, then coolly said, "She would if they were native to Australia, I'm sure sir."

Antony snickered to himself. "I'll take her."

* * *

Antony slumped into the darkness that was the corner of the Leaky Cauldron. He sat back, swirling the Butterbeer in his glass and watching moodily as it twisted, the slight foam eddying amongst the clear golden liquid. The owl watched him with a glitter in her eye.

"You need a name," he told her. She ruffled her feathers at him. "A name for the owl who is to bring me foul tidings from Malfoy Manor," he mused. He sipped his drink and studied her. "I don't think you need an Australian name. I already chose a name for the place of origin when I named Makalu. She's what the Americans call a 'Himalayan Blue', you realise." He paused, then let out a bitter laugh. "I know. Ma'at. The Egyptian goddess of truth and justice. Justice. Hah!" With his bitter words he took a long draught from his drink, wishing it was somewhat stronger.

"Well, well. Who do we have here?" said a silky voice that made Antony sit up and stare.

"Professor -" But the hooded figure held up a hand, managing to make even that simple action look menacing.

"I have some strong words for you, Mr Bond. I do trust you will not ignore them?"

"That depends on what they are," Antony replied, evasive.

"Did you have a nice seventeenth birthday?" Snape asked, sliding into the seat opposite the boy. Antony stared into his drink.

"Why do you ask?"

"Because," Snape snapped, an iron-like hand suddenly on Antony's left arm, "I saw a young fool sell his soul to Lord Voldemort yesterday. I just wanted to know if he enjoyed the experience." Snape's grip loosened. Antony averted his gaze from the Butterbeer for a moment. His eyes flicked into the darkness of Snape's hood and were met by glittering spots of black fury.

He swallowed another gulp of his drink, his throat suddenly dry. "Why?"

"Because I want to know if you've lost all sense you had when I taught you Potions last year!" Snape hissed. "Now, I think it would be better if we were to continue this conversation elsewhere. But after yesterday's events, I'm not altogether sure I trust you."

Antony considered this. "Why should you? No-one else does!" he spat, his eyes launching a furious attack on the wood of the table.

"I was your Head of House for six years, Mr Bond, and in that time I saw a talented, intelligent, sadistic, spoilt brat. But you had promise. I want to know if you've wasted that."

"That depends on what you mean by wasted," Antony said, his voice low, every word strictly controlled. "Wasted the chance to live normally, without fear, regret, doubt ... then yes, it's been wasted. If you mean my potential to be more than a petty killer like my cousin, then no."

"Fine. Come with me. People listen in bars." Snape's eyes flitted to Ma'at and Antony's other purchases. "Bring them."

Antony slid from his seat and followed his old professor from the building. As they emerged into the sunlight he reflected on how the two of them must look; there would be a marked contrast between them. On both figures the sun shone only on light-absorbing black, sinister, suspicious in the pale yet strong daylight. The figure of the man walking alongside Antony was stooped and wary, his movements uncertain and furtive. His glittering eyes flicked from side to side before he reached into his pocket and extracted an empty bottle. Antony himself stood taller in natural height, but in despondency was slumped from his usual high, haughty posture. His stance, usually so self-assured, was nervous, flighty. He paused for a moment, uncertain, before accepting one end of the bottle his companion offered him. They remained for a moment, then both were gone, taking the packages with them.

Antony found himself in a small room, bare-walled and sparsely furnished. He eyed Snape, at the same time as he flicked his gaze around the room to quickly take in the details. Desk. Chair either side of it. Window with curtains drawn. Cheap bookcase filled with weighty, elderly tomes which looked severely out of place in the spartan room. Floor covered in green carpet.

"Sit." Snape's command was simple, yet his voice held venom. Antony considered the options for a moment before slipping into his seat. Snape remained standing. Antony was tempted to rise again, but before he could, Snape raised a hand and glared at him. "Why?" was all he said.

Antony stared at the bookshelf, feeling his barriers rise once more and his feelings close off from his face. He shrugged.

"Don't lie to me, Bond," Snape snarled. "It gets you nowhere."

"Why should I be accountable to you?" Antony replied.

"I need to know if you're trustworthy."

"And how do I know if I can trust you?" Antony's words were bitter. He turned his gaze on Snape, his eyes prickling. "I trust nobody. You know that, surely."

"I was actually wondering, Bond," said Snape, slamming his hands onto the desk and looking Antony eye-to-eye, "if it was that you didn't trust anyone with your feelings, or simply that you were the bastard you pretended to be. Can I trust you?"

"That depends on what you want to trust me with."

"A fine Slytherin's answer. Avoiding the question by throwing doubt on it. A tactic, I believe, that you learned from me."

"Perhaps I don't want to tell you. I'm not a fool. This isn't power games anymore. It's life and death!" Antony snapped.

"Good. That's the answer I needed."

Antony stared at Snape for a moment.

"A true Death Eater would not have those reservations," the older man said simply.

"But -"

"I heard what you said, Bond, and know what it means. You are afraid to trust me with your justification. No Death Eater would be, for they would see no harm in it. For some reason almost certainly connected with Lucius Malfoy, you have got yourself into a situation you can't back out of. And you fear you cannot keep your innocence, your self-respect, your values. And you can't. Not without help.

"I will tell you nothing for both your safety and mine, except this. I learned very quickly that the Death Eaters will expect something of you. I am no longer at Hogwarts. Voldemort will want you to take my place as his insider. Use that. You will find allies. You can be helped.

"Good luck."

Antony knew that the discussion was over before Snape handed him the Portkey. He took it, a thousand images of shame and fear swirling before him. He remembered Snape's distrust, the flickering of disapproval when the man realised the truth, the almost pitying words he had used. And he realised then that if he thought there were problems with his own values and beliefs, they were nothing to the prejudices and disgust he was going to face if anyone at Hogwarts realised what his choice had been, even Dumbledore. He was hailed as brilliant by so many, yet he had been unable to make a simple decision that would make a stand for his beliefs. He couldn't face Dumbledore with this news. How could he hope that others would accept this decision when even he could not?

As he saw the land around his home come into being around him, he stared at it with a sense of shame. His choice had failed all he believed in, all he held dear. Tears stung his eyes as he collected his purchases and trudged towards the house.

* * *


	7. The Secrets Shattered

**Disclaimer:** Well, I think we all know by now that I am most decidedly not J. K. Rowling. Nor am I affiliated with her, AOL Time Warner, Bloomsbury Publishing Plc or any of the publishers of Harry Potter worldwide. I don't have permission to do this. I'm just a fan having fun, and I'm certainly not making any money.

As always, Merlin Talisen is mentioned courtesy of my sister, the lovely TQ.

The epigram is from William Shakespeare's Hamlet, act III, scene ii, line 373. The quote in the main body is from the same play, act II, scene ii, 278.

**Author's Note: **Not much to say, really, except the usual thanks to Calliope, TQ, and Elanor. Thanks are also due to the folks at Livejournal who helped get me motivated. Hugs to you all.

Happy New Year!

**Chapter Seven: The Secrets Shattered**

You would pluck out the heart of my mystery.

Hamlet, Hamlet

As the end of the holidays approached, Antony began to realise how fortunate he was that he had the escape of Hogwarts. He knew that he could expect a meeting with Voldemort soon, to receive instructions on how best to carry out the Dark Lord's wishes at school. But after that, he surely could not be expected to attend Death Eater meetings, and he would not have to maintain his façade under the constant pressure that was his fear whenever he was in Lucius's presence. He had been foolish not to understand how lucky he was to have had Hogwarts, for there he did not have to lie so constantly; there a mistake could be explained and forgiven, and he had worked so diligently at his image that it was now taken for granted by his fellow students.

However, he could not escape the possibility that Lucius would return. He was uncertain if, after the enormous toll his effort had taken on him on the day of his induction, he would be able to manage such a feat again. His fear led him to shut himself in his room. He spoke neither to Kilby nor to his mother, and remained moodily silent at meals, reflecting on his situation rather than on the social pleasantries of mealtime chatter. In his place at the head of the table, he would sit, straight-backed, caught in the endless chain of wealth and manners that had ensanred his ancestors for hundreds of years. In the dining room, at the old, mahogany-carved table, just himself and his mother with Kilby scurrying into and out of the room bearing great platters of too much food, Antony felt that he could just as easily have been a part of the Elizabethan world he so often lost himself in. Indeed, he wondered, as he took the occasional sip of fine wine that his mother obviosuly expected of him, was this how Hamlet had felt when in the immediate presence of Gertrude? Had he felt the same anger, resentment, and betrayal? For to Antony, the tragedy seemed all too life-like.

After each meal, he would return to his room. To distract himself from the harsh reality of his life, he engrossed himself in schoolwork, particularly the questions Professor Vector had given for Arithmancy and the translation of an ancient passage for Professor King's Ancient Runes class. When his work was finished, he sat at his desk with the Arithmancy textbook open and blank rolls of parchment before him, making precise, calculated marks and notations as he derived equations and solutions.

To the untutored eye, Arithmancy was no more than magic with numbers, simple predictions. But to someone undertaking a study of the subject, it became far more. A more advanced student began to realise how many branches there were to Arithmancy. There were two main categories, with each breaking into smaller groups. One area was that of the magical powers of numbers and their uses in other disciplines, such as Divination. The other was the far more difficult and mysterious magical theory. This was delving into the technical aspects of magic, discovering the reasons why spells had the effect they did, and deriving theorems and equations to explain them. It was similar to a combination of the Muggle disciplines of mathematics and physics, as Professor Vector had explained. Magical theory was the least favourite sort of Arithmancy for most students; they despised the tedious, precise work. However, it was to magical theory that Antony applied himself during the final dragging days of the holidays.

_Extension question_. _  
Derive the magical formula for one of the following:  
Jelly Legs  
Summoning Charm  
Basic Transfiguration  
Those of you who are particularly eager may like to try all three._

_Antony, please note that I do _not _expect a fully worked derivation for a Cheering Charm as well!_ Professor Vector had written across his parchment as she checked his final work for the term. Nevertheless, that was what he applied himself to, having completed all three components of the extension question. For he was at home with the numbers. He could trust them. They didn't change, and they had no expectations of him. A brilliant magical theorist was expected to be neither sociable nor particularly anti-social, just good with the formulae. That was one expectation Antony could live up to.

_When f= force of spell, p=power of wizard, x=experience, and v=magical variable,  
v=_

He paused over the magical variable. The elusive formula was always the most difficult to calculate in any theory. It was unique to each spell, and represented the magical force that made each piece of magic different to any other. Defining that quality was amongst the hardest things any magical theorist could attempt. Some spells had no magical theory, and that was why. It was widely considered that the magical variable of Avada Kedavra would allow the production of a theory, and that from that a magical theorist could derive the magical variable of a potion or spell to counter it, accomplishing something no expert in any other field had managed.

"I was never fond of magical variables," said a cool voice from behind Antony. "They're too elusive for my liking."

Antony started, blotting the parchment, then hurriedly stood, dropping his quill and smudging his parchment even more.

"Lucius!" The man smiled, and Antony suppressed a shudder. The expression was so insincere, almost as though it mocked the idea of a true smile. "What a ... lovely surprise!" The hesitation was a moment too long, and Antony cursed himself.

"I just wished to deliver some instructions from our Master." Antony had to force himself to breathe steadily and quietly. Lucius raised an eyebrow, and Antony offered him a seat, into which he swept with the lethal grace of a jungle cat. "Thank you. Now, to business. Our Master has given me instructions regarding your operations. There is an organisation centred at Hogwarts called the Order of the Phoenix. It is your job to watch for indications of their movements. The headmaster trusts you, so it is likely you will be able to gather some information about the group. He leads it.

"You are to come to meetings whenever possible. However, it is not necessary for you to come when it will, ah, attract attention, shall we say? Any questions?"

Antony shook his head. The Order of the Phoenix - who could they be? Lucius smiled as he stood. "I shall see you at dinner." He frowned over Antony's shoulder at the Arithmancy for a moment, then left. Teeth clenched and eyes screwed tightly shut, Antony violently balled the parchment up, threw it into the fireplace, and muttered "_Incendio_," watching as the carefully worked numbers and pronumerals crackled and burned.

  
***

Finally, the day came when Antony could return to Hogwarts. He bad Lucius and his mother farewell, gathering himself for the enormous task of making his sad farewell appear genuine; he forced his face into a mold of downcast sadness so realistic that his mother enveloped him in a final hug before he left, telling him, "Oh, darling, you'll be back soon." That thought was enough to ensure he no longer had to act.

Once out of their sight he ceased to hide his relief and enjoyed the all-too-short time of freedom he had before once again he stood in front of the looming castle, greeted by its towers and their strong, bleak stonework. The castle somehow seemed to want to take on a menace that was not its as it stood against the dark clouds that threatened a snowy night. For here his image was established. It was not in doubt, and failure for a moment could be laughed off and easily explained, as he had managed when Talisen questioned his interest in Shakespeare. He only wished he could have done the same when, two years ago, someone else had made the same realisation. But then it had led to a sort of uneasy comradeship, and a chance to study Defence Against the Dark Arts in his senior years. It had had its uses.

As he mounted the steps and approached the oak doors, he found himself trembling. _You wanted to escape, but what does Hogwarts offer? Nosy teachers, unfair teachers, worthless teachers, and a bunch of prying, manipulative, and thoroughly despicable Slytherins. What refuge is that?_ And it was true. For here, while he was not under the pressure of Lucius's imposing presence, he could not escape into his room for hours. He slipped a hand into his pocket and felt his Head Boy badge there, which brought another wave of panic. He had classes, Quidditch, and his duties as Head Boy. Once again he felt the burning sensation of tears he had felt so often since his birthday. How could he maintain the balance of power, schoolwork, his _duties_ as a Death Eater, _and_ his image? Surely he would fail. Fail and perish. He put his hands on the oak door and rested his head there for a moment, forcing himself to breathe slowly and deeply. Finally, a shaky sort of composure regained, he entered the castle and stalked through the corridors, passing an occasional window which offered a brief glimpse of the cool, moonlit grounds. His doubts began to niggle at his composure once more, and he wanted to shove them from his head, screaming, but did not.

_Stop it!_ he told himself, forcing his feet to stop moving. _This is exactly what you've been doing for the past seven years. Why are you so worried? _He gazed out on the icy grounds, feeling his mouth set in a harsh line. He took a sharp breath, closing his eyes to shove back the prickling moisture he felt in them.

_Yes, I've been playing this power game for seven years. But I'm not playing for approval anymore. I'm playing for survival._

Slowly, he forced his face back into the passive mask his peers knew so well. He pinned the badge back onto his chest, fumbling slightly from nerves, then took a deep, calming breath, composing his emotionless façade. He raised his head slightly, feeling his mouth set itself into a look of snobbish disapproval. He arched one eyebrow. Good. He was ready.

In a swirl of black, he turned and strode down the corridors and staircases. As he descended the last stairs into the dungeon level, he felt the slightest drop in temperature and saw the dimming of the view around him as he left the area of the school with windows behind. Any Slytherin could tell when they were on that floor without even looking; the rest of the school was just that little bit warmer and brighter. He didn't know if any of the other students would notice, but after all, Slytherins did live in the dungeons.

He felt the slightest of smirks creep onto his face as he felt his cloak billow behind him. He had done it. The perfect Slytherin was back, and it was with a commanding, imperious tone that he gave the password. He took slow but confident, regal steps into the common room and watched as the eyes of all his housemates turned towards him. The chatter died. He smiled.

"Oh, it's _Bond_." A figure unfolded itself from one of the best chairs near the fireplace. Antony saw the slightly longer-than-normal brown hair and caught the faintest hint of accent on the words.

"It's a pleasure to see you too, Chauncey." Antony heard the bite in his voice and felt his smile widen. Yes, he was back, and playing the game just as well as always. Chauncey looked Antony up and down, then scoffed.

"Excuse me," he said, slipping past his housemates and up the dormitory stairs.

"Welcome back, Bond." This time the use of the surname was in an entirely different context. It was said with almost a friendly tone. Antony strode towards the chair the voice had come from, and felt the eyes drift away from him and the atmosphere drop in the tension he hadn't realised was present.

As usual, Draco was curled in Antony's favourite chair. All it took was a stern look and a raised eyebrow to unseat him. Antony sank into the seat, staring at the flames.

"Happy belated seventeenth," the voice which had greeted him said.

"Thanks." He sighed, moving slightly in his chair to find the warmest, most comfortable position. The glow of the flames was warm on his face and he wanted to close his eyes, sit back, and sink into dozy relaxation. But he felt his muscles were tense, and he didn't dare to release the tension, show himself off his guard, comfortable, to his housemates. Instead he stared into the fireplace. The shadows nearest the fire were dancing in time with the flames. Enchanting.

"Have a good Christmas?"

"Yes."

"Could you be any more monosyllabic?" Half joke, half frustration, the words snapped Antony out of his preoccupation.

"Sorry, Edwards."

Vincent shrugged. "Something wrong?" he asked in a low voice.

Antony glanced around the common room.

"Not in front of the entire house."

Vincent nodded. "Ah. Sensitive issue."

"Understatement."

"Antony!" The name rang across the common room.

"Oh, holy hell." Antony scowled. "Do I have to put up with her?"  
  
Vincent shrugged. "I think she likes you, Bond."

"Thanks for the understatement," Antony said, feeling his voice ooze sarcasm. "Again."

"How were your holidays?" a female voice trilled.

"Hello, Vanitra."

She smiled and slid into an empty chair nearby. Doing his best to appear to ignore her, Antony studied her as surreptitiously as possible. On the edge of his vision, he watched her lean back into the chair, totally aware of her beauty and the effect it had on the males of the house (or most of them). Firelight sparkled on her blonde hair, and her face was smooth and elegant.

Antony sighed. He began thinking again.

As he stared moodily into the flames once more, the common room began to empty. Students were retreating to their dormitories, retiring early so they could start the new term on a bright note rather than a lethargic one.

"Want to talk?" Vincent said when the common room was finally empty of everyone but the three seventh years. Antony shook his head. Vincent winced. "That bad? Well, I'll see you tomorrow."

"Thanks."

Vincent took a step towards his friend and placed a hand on Antony's shoulder. "Bond, your sarcasm ought to be declared illegal," he said, a twist of sympathetic humour in his words. Antony briefly covered his friend's hand with his own and forced a smile. Vincent nodded and tightened his hand ever so slightly, a reassuring squeeze of Antony's shoulder.

When Vincent had also retreated, Vanitra rose and slunk over to Antony. She leaned on the back of his chair, her chin on her hand, and toyed with his hair.

"What's wrong?" she said in a breathy whisper. An acidic response formed in Antony's mind, but he bit it back. He shrugged. Vanitra knelt beside his chair and gazed at him. "Come on."

He avoided her eyes. The shadows around the fire were still dancing.

She wrapped an arm around his waist and gently rested her head on his shoulder.

The common room seemed extremely empty. Antony wondered how the house-elves managed to keep the fire stocked with wood without students seeing them. He felt Vanitra's lips brush against the skin on his neck. In spite of himself, he shivered. But damn it, he _hated_ her!

"If I'm not talking to Edwards about it, then there's no way I'm talking to you," he snapped, shoving past her, not pausing to take in the surely pitiful and shocked expression on her face. He stormed from the common room and up the boys' staircase to the seventh-year dormitory. He opened the door and moved towards his bed. Despite his anger, he felt a pleasant eagerness to lie down, relax at last. He made sure to move slowly, quietly, so he did not awaken the sleeping boys. The only noise in the room was the faint noise of his footsteps and the gentle, lulling rhythm of his roommates' breathing. He pulled off his boots, and fumbled for a book in his trunk, whispering a soft "Lumos". The spell created a gentle glow around his wand, enough to allow him to locate the book. As his hand moved near it, the golden words on the cover changed from _An Advanced History of Magical Theory_ to _The Complete Works of William Shakespeare_. He smiled, his irritation forgotten, as he lowered the lid on the trunk with a quiet, clicking _thud_.

"Antony," came a quiet voice from behind him. He started and turned. In the pale glow from his wand, he could see Vincent peering from behind his hangings. "Do you want to talk?"

"No," Antony said, the word almost percussive in its brevity. He nodded goodnight and slid into his own bed, drawing the hangings and opening the book at page 882. He lay back, finally releasing his tension for a moment, until his eyes fell on the page. He rubbed his eyes, then read the line again.

_Ham. Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks, but I thank you: and sure, dear friends, my thanks are too dear a halfpenny._

Antony slammed the book shut, battling feelings of guilt, for even Shakespeare, it seemed, was rebuking him. He peered through his hangings, but Vincent had retreated, so he lay, staring upwards, pondering, through the long hours of blackness.

***

  
Antony was the first person in the common room the next morning. He had lain awake for some time before finally falling into a light, drifting sleep from which he awoke for no apparent reason in the early hours of the morning. He saw no point in attempting further rest, and took his Defence Against the Dark Arts essay down to the common room for a final read over before the class he was to present it to later that day. Assuming his team had remembered his instructions from the end of term, there was to be Quidditch practice in the dim light of the dawn hours. A glance out the window told him that the threatened snow of the previous night had not come, and the practice would be unhindered. He didn't particularly feel like awakening his team mates, and hoped they would remember of their own accord.

Sure enough, the next person to appear from the boys' staircases was Claude Chauncey, already dressed in his robes of forest green. Chauncey carried a Nimbus 2001 and took a chair at the far side of the room to Antony, ignoring his companion and instead examining the motions of the flames in the flickering fire. The boy's noble, gently tanned face, framed by his brown hair, was pensive.

The two sat in silence for some time. Finally, Antony sighed.

"Chauncey, can I have a word?"

"One," was the taut response. Antony paused, then smirked. He turned to face Chauncey. Chauncey kept watching the fireplace.

"Quidditch." At that, Chauncey pulled his eyes from the flames and turned to his companion.

"All right. What about it?"

"I wanted your help deciding what the training schedule will be. Because Ravenclaw beat us, we need some significant victories to have even a hope of reaching the final."

"We've got a good Chaser team," Chauncey replied, rising and taking a seat closer to Antony. "Where we mostly seem to fall down, points-wise, is in our Seeker."

Antony nodded, "I know. Can you think of any ways we can train him a bit better? The Chasers are good, but not that far ahead of the other teams that they can win a game alone."

Chauncey nodded, frowning in consideration. He began outlining diagrams on the carpet with his forefinger, pausing over Draco's placement. "We don't have the time or ability to coach him in-depth in Seeker technique. Neither of us is an expert."

"Experts say one of the best ways to train a Seeker is using a magical simulation technique that I'm sure Advanced Charms students such as yourselves could manage," said a matter-of-fact voice from across the room. Chauncey and Antony both looked up, surprised, to see a girl padding across the room towards them. She was already dressed in her school robes, and her hair was neatly ensnared in a ponytail. It fell in gentle waves of brown down her back, except for the delicate wisps which hung to either side of her finely-shaped face.

Antony felt his heart grip with nervousness.

"Alexandra," he said, standing and acknowledging her with a brief nod and an awkward smile.

"Hi, Xandra," Chauncey said, his expression one of much greater ease. "I didn't realise you were going to start coming to Quidditch practice."

"I'm quite entitled to watch," the girl said with a hint of strain in her voice.

"Of course," Antony replied before Chauncey had a chance. "Tell me more about this simulation, Alexandra." She sat with the boys and explained how she'd read in a book on Quidditch training about a spell used to simulate the changing environment of a Quidditch game.

"You can send him off to train in one corner of the pitch and work with the rest of the team at the same time. The spell randomly generates noises and phantom movements to make the situation like a real Quidditch game. I've still got the book if you want to read it."

"Thank you Alexandra," Antony replied, trying to catch her eye. When he succeeded, she arched an eyebrow at him. He felt a hint of red rise in his cheeks and looked away.

"Xandra," Chauncey said. She smiled at him. "Save me a seat at breakfast, won't you? Even if you come to practice, I'll take a while getting changed."

She nodded. "Are you two ready to go?" Both boys nodded. "Fine."

Alexandra spent most of the practice sitting in the stands. She watched each move the Chasers made as they flew. Always anxious about who was watching the team in action, Antony glanced over to the stands several times. She had a faint, forlorn expression on her face. She seemed to be seeing through the boys as they flew, thinking her own private thoughts. Antony thought there was a sort of wistful longing in her face, but he could not stay still long enough to examine her expression closely without risk of being attacked by a Bludger.

When the practise was finished, she exchanged a few words with Chauncey. Antony watched them, seeing the ease with which they interacted. He sighed and turned away. He picked up his broomstick and commenced the walk back to the school. The first day of term hadn't even started, and already he was facing the same melancholy feeling he had battled whilst trapped in the Oxfordshire manor.

"Antony!" He paused and looked over his shoulder. Alexandra was jogging across the pitch, her hair swinging in its ponytail as she moved. She was graceful, not beautiful, but she had an athlete's ease of movement, although Antony had never seen her play any sport. He waited for her, and then began walking again.

There was silence for some time. Alexandra was frowning at her boots. "I-I've been thinking," she began in a soft, hesitant voice, "about what you said to me before the holidays." Antony felt his mouth go dry and swallowed awkwardly. "And I've considered everything but I'm not sure. I think I want to, but you have to face it, you don't have a good record."

Antony stuck his hands in the pockets of his robe and stared straight ahead as he walked. "That's because they're all idiotic, flippant cows."

"Then why'd you ask? Or accept?"

He shrugged. "I hoped perhaps I was wrong in my initial judgement."

"And what's your initial judgement of me?" she asked, halting. He was forced to stop and look at her, at the delicate line of her jaw, the enchanting blue of her eyes, the way the wisps of brown fell across the side of her cheeks. He attempted to quash the fluttering in his stomach, and gently, hesitantly, reached out a hand and brushed the hair from her face.

"I ­ I've been watching you for a long time, Alexandra. You're quiet, you're intelligent, you're funny. That's what matters, not beauty or breeding."

"Says the most handsome, rich boy in Slytherin house."

He smiled. "See what I mean about the sense of humour?"

She tilted her head slightly and examined his face. She put a hand on his chin and scrutinised him. "Yes," she said, her brow bent into a thoughtful frown. "You'll do."

Antony felt his first true smile in a long time.

***

His happiness from Alexandra's acceptance lasted Antony until lunchtime. As he entered the Great Hall with Vincent after Transfiguration, he saw Chauncey gulping down a small lunch before he stood, bid his friends (including Alexandra) farewell, and hurried from the hall. Antony winced, remembering that he was supposed to be in a meeting with the headmaster and the other prefects. But he could not open himself to the headmaster's interrogation; surely Dumbledore would ask to see him after the meeting and inquire which choice he had made and he could not face the shame of admitting his decision to the headmaster. He knew he could not avoid the day when he would have to share his choice forever, but perhaps he could delay it for a time. Alexandra looked up when he arrived at the table and smiled.

"Don't you have a meeting?" she asked as he sat beside her, Vincent on his other side. He shook his head. "That's funny. The others do." She took another mouthful of her food, flushing slightly when she caught Antony's gaze. "What do you have next?"

"Defence," Antony replied.

"Care of Magical Creatures," was Vincent's response. Alexandra nodded and informed them that she had Potions.

"Is Talesin running an extension class in sixth year?" Vincent asked as he took a piece of roast meat. Alexandra shook her head.

"Why, what's she doing?" Alexandra paused to chew her mouthful.

"She's taking some of the more advanced Potions students and teaching us potions we can use to defend ourselves. In lunchtimes and afternoons."

"That sounds interesting," Alexandra replied. "I wish she _was_ offering it. Claude's always telling me about his uncle the Auror who's teaching him to watch out for potential Death Eaters." It took Antony a moment to realise she was calling Chauncey by his first name. _Don't be stupid. They're classmates, after all!_ But he found he had no appetite, and with a nod to Vincent and Alexandra, he rose.

"I left my textbook in the dormitory," he said. He hadn't really, and Vincent probably knew it. But he said nothing. Antony roamed the corridors for a while, then resigned himself to going to Defence Against the Dark Arts. He was quite early, and he leant against the wall with his hands in his pockets. He studied a portrait on the wall opposite the classroom, watching its occupant flick into and out of the frame. He wished he had a cigarette, for it was all he needed to complete the picture of lazy insolence he wanted to radiate. Insolence was a good way to be left alone.

He saw Raylene approaching from the direction of Dumbledore's office, her silver badge obvious against the deep black of her robe. She slung her bag onto the ground and turned to Antony with a glare.

"Where were _you_?" she asked, a frown of disapproval deeply written across her face. "Surely Mr Perfect didn't forget a meeting with Dumbledore?"

"No." The word was sharp and brief. He seemed to be using it a lot.

"And I thought I could rely on you to do your duty as Head Boy!"

"You can," Antony bit back. But he was only half-convinced of that fact himself. He knew he had failed to attend the meeting, and that directly reflected his performance in his duty. And he always fulfilled his duty as Head Boy. It was something he took pride in doing well, and could do without being looked down on. Of course, as a Slytherin, he was always a little unfair, but only as much as was needed for his image. On the other hand, Irwin-Lowe, who had been a prefect with him, had always been as unfair as possible without losing her job.

"Well, prove it," she snapped. "Dumbledore's not happy with you, you know!"

The door to the classroom opened and Nouvelle stuck her head out into the corridor.

"No one else here yet?" she asked, looking around.

"I expect they're still at lunch," Antony replied, not shifting his gaze from the portrait, the occupant of which had just flitted from the frame.

"Well, come in," Nouvelle said, opening the door and stepping to the side. Out of habit Antony lingered for a moment before following Raylene inside.

"Did you have a nice holiday?" Nouvelle asked, searching through her desk drawer. Raylene replied that she had indeed, thank you. Antony busied himself looking for his essay in his bag. "I take it you've both completed your essays?" Raylene held up a piece of parchment, and Antony nodded curtly as he retrieved it, then began methodically removing quill, ink, and parchment. The other members of the class began to trickle in. Soon all were present, and Antony was the only student sitting alone.

***

"Welcome back, class," Nouvelle said from her position at the front of the room. She stood and moved in front of her desk, marking the roll from sight. When she was finished, she placed the roll on her desk. "I do hope you're all ready for another term of your N.E.W.T. studies," she added with a smile. "This term we will finish our unit on Aurors and Death Eaters and commence work on our majors. So start researching.

"For today, however, we will be listening to you present your findings about an Auror and Death Eater of your choice. I trust you've all completed this assignment?" The class nodded. "Do I have any volunteers?" Several hands shot in the air, and Feena Fitzpatrick was the first student to be chosen.

The class heard a presentation about Samuel and Fiona Bones and Evan Rosier, then one about Augustus Rookwood and Arnold McKinnon. Then Raylene Faulkner volunteered. She moved to the front of the classroom, smiling a weak, nervous smile.

"After our first research task I found that the Death Eater I had chosen was fascinating, and that amongst the Aurors were some amazing stories. I decided to examine them further."

"The Death Eater in question is Jorman Bond XXIV, correct?" Nouvelle interjected. Raylene half-turned to face her.

"Yes. And the Auror I researched was Aramis Bastion. A brief version of my findings follows." She took a deep breath and her eyes fell on Antony Bond for a moment. She swallowed, glanced at the parchment she held, and began to speak. "Jorman Bond XXIV was born in Oxfordshire in 1960. His grandfather had been a Grindelwald supporter, and when Voldemort's rise began in 1970, his father and grandfather both grew interested in the movements of the Dark wizard.

"Jorman began at Hogwarts in 1971, where he was sorted into Slytherin house. As Voldemort's power grew, so did the association of Jorman's family with him. Jorman left school in 1978, and his year is infamous for its low survival rate. It included Lily and James Potter, Raven Sanderson, and Arnold McKinnon. Soon after leaving Hogwarts, Jorman joined the ranks of the Death Eaters. He was suspected by the Ministry of Magic, but there was no concrete proof of his guilt until September, 1981." She looked up for a moment, and met Antony's eyes. He blinked and broke the eye contact, lowering his head to stare at the parchment on his desk. She swallowed and continued.

"An Auror, Anita Sanderson, went missing. Her brother and fiancé went looking for her. They found her being tortured. By Jorman." Nouvelle's face had gone stony, and she was staring straight at Antony. "He killed Sanderson's brother and turned on her fiancé. Fortunately, Albus Dumbledore and Aramis Bastion arrived on the scene before Jorman could commit any more murders. He was arrested by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and sentenced to life in Azkaban. Bon ­ Jorman died there three years later," she said, her eyelids drooping. She glanced up from ehr parchment, her expression nervous. Antony was staring towards the teacher's desk. The look on his face said that he clearly saw the cold stare Nouvelle had fixed him with. He raised his head in an attempt at poise. Raylene glanced back down at her parchment and prepared to speak again, but she was interrupted.

There came sound of a chair scraping across the floor so violently that it fell backwards with a clatter, hitting the desk behind it. Antony Bond slung his bag over his shoulder, and casting a venomous, hateful look at Nouvelle, stormed from the room, punctuating his departure with a resounding crash of the door.

***

"BOND!"

Antony didn't halt; if he did, he was sure his tears of shame would burst violently from him. Shame not only at the fact that now, surely, his entire Defence class knew, but also at his reaction.Where had his ability to hide his feelings gone? He swore bitterly under his breath and quickened his pace.

"Antony Bond! One more step and I will personally ensure you are removed from this subject!"

He rounded on Nouvelle and, he saw, Faulkner, in a furious black swirl, as an aggrieved wolf rounds on the creature tormenting it.

"You KNEW! You knew and you still set him as an option! I always _knew_ that was why you hated me! If I had any doubt, I saw it in your face! You prejudiced, hypocritical ­"

"Bond. He was a Death Eater. He has to be studied." Nouvelle's voice was quiet, but it was strained, and her usually kind blue eyes were flashing with fiery anger.

"You could at least ..." He stopped, pressed his palms into his cheeks and in the same movement wiped the tears of fury from his eyes, trying to find the words to complete his sentence.

"At least what?" Nouvelle's voice had a razor edge, cutting knife-like through the air.

"Show me some consideration!" Antony snapped. "Not that you'd bother, I suppose? Why should you? No one does!" He turned on his heel and made to stride down the corridor, escape.

"I'm not finished with you, Bond."

"I don't give a damn," he shot over his shoulder.

"Say that again, Bond! You'll give a damn when you lose that trinket on your chest for outright, blantant disprespect!" His jaw clenched, Antony felt himself tremble with rage. He span to face her again, spitting the words.

"HYPOCRITE! You're just bitter because ­"

"Not another WORD!" Nouvelle roared.

Antony and Faulkner both stared at her; the sweet, diminutive woman had fire in her voice, her stance ... everything. Despite her stature, she radiated anger. The students could finally see how she had succeeded as an Auror. She took a deep breath, then said in a voice that was steady, yet pointed, "Fifty points from Slytherin. And detention. I don't care how upset you are. Nothing, repeat NOTHING, gives you the right to leave my classroom. And I'll be having a word with Dumbledore. You'll have to give some very good reasons why you should study this subject."

Antony felt his face twitch and spasm in rage.

"I don't care if you want to hear it or not! You're just bitter because he killed your brother!"

Nouvelle took three swift steps forward and dealt him a stinging slap. His hand flew to his face. He felt sick with anger. He grabbed her wrist.

"How dare you?"

"How dare I? You presumptuous, insolent BRAT!" She wrenched her arm from his grip. "Don't touch me!"

"Why not? Do you actually give a damn what the hell you've just done to my life? Do you think I don't have to spend every day in misery because of who my father was? Hogwarts is the one place I can escape from that, but no, Professor I'm-so-hard-done-by _has_ to come along and screw that up, doesn't she? You think I want to be his son? You think if I could, I wouldn't go back in time and stop him doing that? Well, perhaps you should think again, _Professor_ SANDERSON!" 


	8. The Order of the Phoenix

**Disclaimer:** I do not own or claim to own any rights to the people, places and situations of the Harry Potter universe, which belong to J.K. Rowling, AOL Time Warner, and various publishers, included but not limited to Bloomsbury Publishing Plc and Scholastic Books. I am making no money and intend no copyright infringement.  
  
The epigram is from Shakespeare's "Rape of Lucrece". I couldn't find any more specific information. Thanks to for the indexed Shakespeare quotations.  
  
As always, Merlin Talisen and Druidic lore belong to TQ. I provide only embellishments.  
  
**Author's Note:** Thanks are due to the denizens of "All Things British: Language" at The Sugar Quill for their help translating Xandra's thoughts and speech into British; to the members of The Sugar Quill Writers' Workshop 2 for their support and help; TQ for allowing me to borrow Merlin and to bounce ideas off of her; Calliope for her friendship and support; and Elanor for the marvellous beta read and encouragement.

**  
**

** Chapter Eight: The Order of the Phoenix**

"Where is truth is there is no self-trust?"  
William Shakespeare, Rape of Lucrece  
  


The flush of fury on Nouvelle's cheeks drained. She stood, still, for a terrible moment, then slowly, coldly, but with a definite fire of anger, she shifted her gaze to Antony. Her jaw was clenched and the blue eyes bored into Antony's face.  
  
"Consideration, Bond? Tell me, did it ever cross your mind I might have a reason for changing my name?" He was silent, eyes meeting her glare with one of his own. "Well?" He still made no reply. "Speechless for once?" Her voice had sunk in pitch and tone; her lips barely moved as she spoke through her gritted teeth. "A bit late for that."  
  
"If I wanted the school to know my family history I would have told them myself!" Tears were forming in Antony's eyes and he swiped a hand roughly across his face to wipe them away.  
  
The professor let out an almost-scream of rage. "Get out of my sight!"  
  
Antony paused, glaring. Behind Nouvelle, a movement attracted his eye. It was Faulkner.  
  
"Go," she mouthed. He narrowed his eyes at her, asking with his body language who had asked her, and fuming over the fact that his secret had been revealed by her presentation. Feeling almost as inarticulate with rage as Nouvelle seemed, he clenched his teeth and screwed up his face, then spun, his cloak swirling around him, and stormed away. The wall guarding the entrance to the Slytherin common room had not been snapped at so severely in some time."Good afternoon, class," Merlin said, smiling as she opened the door after the end of her last timetabled class that day. "Please, come in." Maintaining her best attempt at grace, she moved towards her desk, self-conscious in her Muggle clothes. Well aware of the dangers of working with the more advanced potions, she had dressed in sturdy leather boots, Muggle jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. Over that she had put on the long white dragonhide laboratory coat she had used when performing potions research for the Ministry of Magic. Perched on top of the braided hair piled on top of her head was a pair of safety goggles. Trying not to flush under Antony Bond's disapproving glare (which was surely aimed at her attire, unfitting for a witch of status such as her own), she leant back on her desk. Her hand brushed a phial and it fell over with a clatter. Luckily, she had just cleaned it, so it was empty, but she had lost what little poise she had as well as the struggle with her blush. She took a moment, regained her composure, and began to speak._  
_  
"You know why you are here," she said to the eight students sitting attentively before her. "The world is becoming an increasingly dangerous place. No matter how much some people may wish to deny it, anyone with a shred of sense can see it. Potions are an important part of your defence against the Dark Arts, in many ways. And nobody teaches you the potions you need to save your life." There was a pause heavy with trepidation as the students looked to each other, uncertain. "You are the most talented students in the school. I've chosen each of you for that reason, and because I feel you can benefit from the extra defensive knowledge." She watched Bond carefully as she said this. For some reason, she felt he could benefit from the knowledge he would gain in this classroom. Why, she was not sure. Maybe she had inherited some of her mother's instincts as a Seer. The students turned back to her, obviously listening carefully and with intelligence. "I cannot," she continued, enjoying finally having a class of students who were attentive and interested, "begin to explain how important this is. You're here for your own protection. Remember that. If you want to disrupt the class and stop others from learning," here her eyes fell directly on Bond, who scowled, "be it by snarkiness, fighting, disrespect, or distracting others," she slowed her voice to ensure the full impact of her words, "you are out." She let this statement settle for a moment, then continued. "Any questions?" There was silence. "Does anyone think they will not be able to live up to my expectations?" Nothing. "Good. I expected as much of you. And don't get the impression that just because I'm being so harsh on you you can't enjoy yourselves. I don't want Potions to be a drag. So, let's start with something interesting and not too difficult." She smiled and waved her wand. The posters on the walls of the classroom changed in a golden flash to display the ingredients for the Integritas Potion, a potion to detect untrustworthiness.  
  
The potion was a complex one (albeit not difficult if one followed the instructions carefully), and some members of the class had trouble with it. Merlin had deliberately chosen that potion because it was a good test of a student's ability with potions more complex than those in the N.E.W.T course, and also because the most common mistakes were simple to fix. By the end of the time Merlin had allocated to the extension lesson, each of the students had a small amount of a bright blue potion.  
  
"I'm afraid you're going to have to leave that behind," Merlin said as she bid the class farewell. "I'm sure your Heads of House would not be pleased with me if suddenly you all had a way of telling if your best friend is lying to you." She smiled and indicated that the students should place their potion samples on her desk. When they had done so, she told them, "You may go, with the exception of Mr Bond. Well done today."  
  
Bond rolled his eyes and gave a breathy sigh so loud Merlin could hear it from the front of the room. He said something to Vincent Edwards, then, as the rest of the class exited, chattering animatedly, he began, with slow, deliberate movements, to collect, one by one, his possessions, and put them in his bag. Quill, ink bottle, roll of parchment each went in.  
  
As he reached for his textbook, Merlin snapped, "Hurry it up, Bond!"  
  
"Sorry, Professor," he said, a smirk flickering across his face. Merlin crossed her arms.  
  
"This is what I meant when I told the class what I expect of them as the best senior Potions students Hogwarts has to offer. I believe I mentioned snarkiness and disrespect. I was serious," she said, putting her hands on the desk and staring, unflinching, straight into those offputtingly cold eyes, "when I said you will be out if your behaviour is not impeccable. To be completely honest with you, Antony, I don't know why I asked you to join the class. But I did. However," she lowered her voice, almost growling the words to him, "I will reverse my decision, and gladly, if you don't give me a damn Ð good Ð reason why I shouldn't."  
  
Bond's jaw set as he met her vivid green stare with his own steady gaze.  
  
"I thought Gryffindors didn't believe in discrimination."  
  
"We don't. I'm not discriminating. I'm giving a warning to you, based entirely on your previous behaviour. I thought Slytherins didn't believe in fairness." Bond scowled.  
  
Merlin turned and began organising the potion samples her students had given her. She sighed, brushing a wisp of hair that had fallen from her braid away from her face. Normally she would have renewed the Holding Charm on her hair, but she had no more potions to brew that night and no work to do. She would be glad to retreat to her room, collapse onto her bed with a book, and let her confounded hair out of that braid. It was always so heavy to tie up, but she could hardly work with potions with her thick, long hair falling past her waist. It would be a safety hazard.  
  
Bond coughed. "Am I dismissed?" Merlin paused for a moment, considering.  
  
"I believe so. But remember what I said. Don't mislead yourself by thinking I haven't noticed that you have been even more sullen and unpleasant than usual - not that I had thought that was possible - since the holidays. If -" and she studied him carefully at this, "- there is something troubling you, you know you can discuss it with your Head of House." Bond gave a bitter half-laugh and muttered something. "What was that?" Merlin asked. He shook his head.  
  
"Nothing."  
  
She raised an eyebrow at him. "That _is_ the role of your Head of House, is it not?" He made no reply. "I see. Stumped for a response, are we, Your Highness?" Bond's expression darkened.  
  
"Will that be all, Professor?" he asked as civilly as is to be expected from a seventeen-year-old with his teeth fiercely clenched and his eyes fiery.  
  
"I think so," Merlin said lightly, examining the potion samples and realising someone had forgotten to label theirs. She began looking at the labels and using them to determine whose it was. Head held high and nose elevated, Bond collected his bag and swept from sight. _Ah_. It was Lachlan Barz's sample.  
  
Merlin winced. Her head was beginning to twinge; perhaps it was the fumes from the potion, or perhaps it was just the extraordinary weight of her hair. She tucked another long strand of it behind her ear and walked into the adjoining room, her office. She went to the cabinet where she kept a select few important potions and gave her password to a knothole in the wooden frame surrounding the glass panes on the cabinet door. The knothole moved and the words, "Jolly good," issued from it. Merlin opened one of the doors and was about to grab her headache potion when she heard a sort of choked cry, a gasp of excruciating pain. If she had been holding a bottle she would have dropped it as she span, searching for the source of the cry. "Shall I shut myself?" the cabinet asked as she flung open the door opening onto the corridor and looked around her.  
  
She heard a pitiful moan as she stood in the doorway and saw a miserable huddle of black near the classroom door. Bond was crouched over, whimpering, rocking as though to ease some fierce internal pain. As she watched, he collapsed onto the floor, moaning, curling into a ball. Merlin was beside him in an instant, kneeling and soothing him.  
  
"Come on," she whispered in a gentle voice. It had been a long time since she'd used that voice. Despite the long years since she had truly soothed someone, it came back easily. "Antony," she whispered. "Come on. What's wrong?" He shook his head, whimpering. She gently eased him into a sitting position, and then let out a choked gasp. He was clutching his left arm. His left _fore_arm. Her brain made the connection almost instantly to a warning given only the previous day.  
  
_Dumbledore gazed around the room. The usual twinkle in his blue eyes was dimmed; he took in, his face lined and weary, the small gathering of witches and wizards before him. The available spaces and chairs were almost filled; small as the group was, there were not a great number of chairs in the office. Two men, dressed in casual Muggle clothes, were sprawled on the floor. Around the rest of the room stood a variety of people. The petite , porcelain-doll-like Professor Nouvelle was present, an enormous shaggy dog at her feet. Remus was there, his eyes shadowed, his face grey and weary. The others in the room ranged from a solid man who stood, frowning slightly, at the back of the room and spoke with a Canadian accent to a jolly-looking man who sat near Dumbledore's desk.  
  
"Thank you for your attendance," Dumbledore said, taking his spectacles off and cleaning them with a wave of his wand. He gave a small smile, but it didn't alleviate the troubled lines on his brow or the gravity of his posture as he rose. "You have your assignments and our new password. Good luck." A few of the assembled members stirred, and Dumbledore raised a hand. "Just one more thing. Please remember the information I gave you at our first new meeting. Remember to watch for the mark. Thank you. Until next time, companions." Fawkes let out a burst of song from his perch, and Merlin felt her heart fill with warmth and contentment, despite the dangerous tasks she was involved in.  
  
_"The Dark Mark," Merlin whispered. She sat for a moment, considering, then spurred herself into action. She hurried back to the cabinet and grabbed a phial of pain potion. As she was about to return, she paused for a moment, then smiled. She shook a few drops of Integritas Potion into the phial. Neither potion would have a bad effect when used with the other. She then returned to Bond. He was now sitting, leaning against the cool, heavy stone of the wall. His head was leant back, and there was sweat on his brow. He was trembling, like a tree's twig in a breeze, and Merlin saw him wipe tears from his eyes as she approached.  
  
"Here," Merlin said, handing him the phial. He stared at her for a moment, the sides of his mouth drawn down, and his expression speaking eloquently of his agony. He took the phial and unstoppered it. It shook as he raised it to his lips and drank. The trembling slowly eased, and his face gradually began to regain composure. When she thought he looked ready, Merlin stood. "Come, Mr Bond. I think we need to talk." He seemed resigned to that fact, and trailed behind her as she led the way to her office.  
  
"What was wrong with your arm?" Merlin asked as she took a seat, gesturing for him to do the same. Blinking his vividly bright eyes, Amun slunk towards her, a rat in his mouth. She absently stroked his head, then shooed him. "Go. You can eat that one. Do it somewhere else, though," she said. Then her tone hardened as she turned to Bond. "Well?"  
  
"Nothing," the boy said, his eyes focused on the floor. Merlin saw a gentle steam rising from his ears.  
  
"You're steaming," she said.  
  
Bond frowned, puzzled, then his eyes widened. "You rotten, scheming -"  
  
Merlin raised an eyebrow, and he fell silent, his scowl ferocious.  
  
"I always had a bit of Slytherin in me," she said. "Now, tell me."  
  
"I can't," he whispered. His eyes closed, and brief, almost imperceptible expressions flicked across his face. He seemed to be caught in some internal struggle. Merlin noticed his ears were no longer steaming; obviously he truly felt he could not divulge the information to her.  
  
"Shall I take it to the headmaster?"  
  
Bond jumped to his feet so suddenly his chair fell over.  
  
"No! You can't! I - I " His voice faded and he paced the room. He raised his hands to his head. "I - I don't know what to do!" Merlin sat, watching this unprecedented outburst.  
  
"Antony," she said, rising and moving over to him. "Sit down. We'll talk. Would you like some tea? Hot chocolate, perhaps?" He nodded his head, his face contorting as he struggled with his emotions, normally so suppressed, which seemed to now want to be seen and recognised. He sat reluctantly. Something was not right. She had had her own experiences of seventeen-year-old Death Eater trainees. Including Antony's own father. This was not typical behaviour.  
  
She faced Antony across the desk and gave a small, hopefully encouraging, smile. "Take your time."  
  
"I don't want to talk," he said, firmly yet so softly Merlin could hardly hear him.  
  
"It's talk to me or straight to Dumbledore," Merlin replied. "I'm sure you're in pain because there's a Dark Mark burned onto your arm." At the frightened, vulnerable look he gave her she felt a surge of maternal instincts. "What I'm not sure about," she continued, watching over the rim of her cup for his reaction, "is why it's there. You're not behaving like any other Death Eater I've known would have when a teacher they hate found out their secret." Not that she'd ever for sure known a Death Eater who was still at Hogwarts.  
  
"I - I didn't want to," Antony whispered. He was blinking rapidly, as though fighting tears. He kept staring at the knothole on Merlin's desk, silent. Then finally a stammered, weak sentence, "W-why should I trust you?" issued from his lips. Merlin watched him, feeling an unaccustomed emotion within her heart, one she had known well once, but had never experienced before in Antony's presence. Pity. She reached across the desk and placed a gentle hand on his arm.  
  
"Antony, I want to help you. Something's wrong."  
  
"No," Antony said in a trembling voice, yet with a bitter, biting edge. "Everything's wrong."  
  
Merlin closed her eyes. She lowered her head into her hands and shook it slowly.  
  
"Antony," she said weakly, gazing at his troubled face, observing the nervous way he swallowed, the expression of suffering and regret as finely expressed as an exquisite marble carving. "I don't want to cause trouble. But I am obliged to report you. The only way I can help you is if you tell me what's wrong."  
  
Antony's eyelids flickered and his expression deepened to a frown of deep thought. As Merlin watched, he paused and moistened his lips. Then he began to speak.  
  
"I - I didn't want to. You have to believe me." He swallowed, his facial muscles moving as he screwed up his eyes, wiping his hands across them as though wiping tears from his face could wipe stains from his soul. He sat with his index fingers resting on the bridge of his nose, scowling. "Just leave me alone!" he yelled, jumping to his feet. A muscle twitched in his neck as he whirled to face the door.  
  
"Antony," Merlin stood, reached across the desk and closed one hand around his. "Please."  
  
"Do you have any idea what it's like? Living with Lucius Malfoy looming over you everywhere you go? Everything you do?" he snapped, jumping to his feet and striding up and down the length of the room. "He's always asking me questions, watching what I do, approving or disapproving, like he's my father!" He seemed to realise that he was close to losing control and paused in his pacing. "You went to school with him. You know what he's like!" His tone had changed now; it was less bitter, less harsh, more uncertain, even vulnerable, pleading. Merlin sat, stunned at this outburst coming from someone who always seemed to have such control. She was even more stunned to find that this boy, so good at understanding and manipulating people and situations, had really so little control over his life.  
  
Antony's voice was only barely audible. "He'd kill me if I refused."  
  
Merlin brought her hand to her mouth. _Good Lord_.  
  
_Voldemort's destroying another generation's innocence already. Damn him. And damn Lucius too._ Was this the answer to everything the puzzled her about Antony? Did he only act as he did in an attempt to please Lucius? Was that why an intelligent boy who read Shakespeare was, at the same time, the worst of blood snobs?_  
  
_She looked up and saw Antony watching her, eyes wide. It struck her then how very young he was. She could see in him the children she had gone to school with, the clueless fifteen-year-olds who thought they understood life. She saw again the terrified expression on Jorman Bond's face when he had narrowly avoided a plunge down a Hogwarts staircase. And ... seeing the black hair, pale skin, and the unusually large blue eyes widened in terror, she saw again the expression on Sirius Black's face when a prank had almost killed a yearmate.  
  
_It's happening again_, she realised. _The terror, the shame, the shattered innocence.  
  
_He looked fifteen in his vulnerability. Merlin held her head in her hands.  
  
"Antony, all I can do is offer my help. I can't make this go away, any more than I could stop Voldemort last time. But please, let me help. And to help, I have to take you to Dumbledore."  
  
"There's nothing else I can do anyway." He shrugged, deflated after his outburst.  
  
Merlin closed her eyes for a moment as she reached for the Floo Powder to head Albus and let him know they were coming.

The first thing Dumbledore said as Antony entered his office, Talisen at his shoulder, was: "Mr Bond, I do not want you to think that you should feel ashamed of yourself. I cannot imagine anyone - in their right mind, that is - who would think that." Antony scowled, folded his arms across his chest, and slumped into the chair opposite Dumbledore's desk without being asked to. He knew he would be there for a long time. How could Dumbledore make light of the situation? His eyes had twinkled, and had Antony imagined the twitch of his mouth at ïin his right mind'?  
  
"D'you want me to stay, Albus, or to leave?" Talisen asked, hovering behind Antony.  
  
"What does Mr Bond want?" Antony wanted to throw something, scream, or hex someone. Instead, he clenched his fists under the table as hard as he could a few times to release some of the tension, then slouched forward.  
  
"I don't care," he mumbled.  
  
"Perhaps it would be useful for someone else in the school to understand your plight," Dumbledore suggested. Antony shrugged.  
  
"Fine by me." His tone was lacklustre.  
  
"Professor Talisen," Dumbledore said, his voice soft but firm, his eyes fixed on Antony with a grave expression, "has relayed to me what you told her. I appreciate that before the holidays you took the time to explain your feelings and the probability of this happening to me. Because you did that, I can help you."  
  
Antony stopped just before he scoffed.  
  
"I don't quite see how." He lowered his head and stared at the grain of the polished wood before him.  
  
"I can make ... allowances. Tell me the conditions of your membership of the Death Eaters."  
  
Antony repeated the instructions Lucius had given him about meetings and the Order of the Phoenix. What was Dumbledore thinking?  
  
"Ah," Dumbledore said. "There, I can help. You see, I happen to be very well acquainted with the Order of the Phoenix. I am in charge of it, in fact." Antony blinked. "It is a group dedicated to fighting Lord Voldemort. I can help you come up with information to feed to Voldemort. That leaves me, however, in a difficult situation. Would you be willing to join the Order?"  
  
"He's only a boy! He's a student!" Talisen interjected. Dumbledore ignored her.  
  
"Know, Antony, that I would still hold you in regard whatever decision you made. I trust you to do what is right." _Why? What did I do to deserve that? _"When you first came to Hogwarts," Dumbledore said, as if in answer to Antony's thoughts, "I saw a young, intelligent, somewhat arrogant - but in general, good - person. I watched that person harden and become bitter over the years. I especially saw the change when Professor Snape and I made you a prefect. I thought that you may have been coming under Lucius Malfoy's influence, but I knew that I could trust you to make the correct decisions, especially if I assisted you. I made you Head Boy as a way of guiding you in making good decisions and because I knew I could trust you. I ask you this now because I still know that." Antony raised his gaze and met Dumbledore's eyes. He saw something he had never thought to see in the headmaster's eyes when speaking of Antony's choice to join the Death Eaters. Compassion.  
  
"We have a spy within the Death Eaters whose cover has been destroyed. Voldemort suspects him. He has had to go into hiding, or I fear the consequences will be great. I need someone-"Dumbledore's eyes were intent. Antony was almost afraid of what he could see. Could he see Antony's doubt and fear? "-to take over that position."  
  
_Consequences will be great? Voldemort will kill him, you mean._ Was Antony ready to put his life in a similar position of danger? He put his hands on his forehead and tangled his fingers in the front of his hair as he thought. Dumbledore still trusted him! The relief was almost unbearable. But was he really ready to turn his beliefs into actions? How could he possibly manage this without Lucius finding out? What if it all became too much? What if he was killed? Or worse, what if Order secrets were tortured out of him? Dumbledore trusted him, but did Antony trust himself?  
  
But he would be able to have a hold on sanity, something to remind him that he was not what he seemed. Something to prove to Dumbledore, to Talisen, that he was not what he seemed. He realised, in spite of his fears, what his answer must be.  
  
"I will."  
  
"Albus ..." Talisen said. "He's only seventeen."  
  
"Were you and Remus much older when you began working with the Order? Or Lily or James?"  
  
"No. I was eighteen. But it was different! James and Lily were already involved, and I ...." Her voice subsided. "I was ...."  
  
"Merlin, you were not admitted into the Order because of what you are, but because of your talents and dedication."  
  
"Antony, I do not need a decision now." Dumbledore had returned to his original topic.  
  
"What else could my decision be?"  
  
"It will be dangerous."  
  
"No more so than the situation I am already in. And at least I can do something to help." He could see Dumbledore disagreed, but the headmaster did not say anything further. This whole situation was unexpected, but secretly, Antony was glad of it. It would give him something to do to reassure himself that he had not given himself over to the Death Eaters, that he was still on the side of light. His mind formed the question that would give him that opportunity and seal his decision.  
  
"What do I have to do?"

It was the tender blue of predawn twilight when Alexandra awoke. She pushed herself into a sitting position with a long, slow movement of her arms, and rubbed the yellow dust of sleep from her eyes with a delicate yawn. She twitched aside the hangings and peered into the dormitory. It was silent save the gentle breathing of her yearmates and Hypatia Bertram's occasional snore.  
  
Xandra slung her legs over the side of the bed and stood. She padded to the door, hair loosely held in the braid she habitually captured it in at night-time to reduce morning frizz. She slipped out into the corridor and poked her head part of the way down the stairs which led to the common room. No-one was about, so she dressed silently and slipped through the common room and into the corridors.  
  
When she reached the level of the school that was above ground, she walked over to a window and leaned on the sill, gazing out across the grounds. The light that made a feeble attempt to climb through the window and illuminate the corridor failed, instead stopping at a tranquil light that washed everything in a gentle blue, as though a water-colour artist had drawn a paintbrush loaded with diluted colour across the scene.  
  
There had been no snow the previous night; the gentle covering of winter powder on the ground still held the footprints of many students, wending their way around the lake or towards Care of Magical Creatures or the Herbology greenhouses. She smiled. Turning up the collar on her jacket, she made her way to the heavy doors which stood as a barrier between the corridors and the pale light outside.  
  
The air was chill, and Xandra took care to cast a Breath-Warming Charm as she set out. She did not want the cold air entering her lungs to make her wheeze, and nor did she want her face almost frozen by the breath of morning. With that done, she performed a few stretches and commenced a slow jog around the edge of the lake. She had had to perform her morning jog in the corridors of the school until today, for snow, rain, and chilling winds had made the lakeside seem miserable. She felt her feet pounding a gentle, steady rhythm on the ground and her hair in its braid swinging, brushing her back. She took a deep, fresh breath and smiled, free of complications, concerns, and consternation. Free.  
  
Her mind blissfully empty, she reached the lone tree which was her turning point, reached out a hand and brushed its bark as she circled it. Her eyes were on the ground around ten feet in front of her and her feet beat a rhythm, which she breathed in time with. Now she could concentrate.  
  
What had she got herself into with Antony Bond? When he, in a manner reminiscent of Fitzwilliam Darcy (so, she _had_ learned something from that Muggle Studies essay) had asked her out at the end of the previous term, she had hardly known what to think. He was handsome, rich, and altogether too arrogant, not to mention his feuding with her best friend. Yet she had watched him interact with his best (and perhaps only) friend, Vincent Edwards, and had seen that despite his bad reputation for breaking foolish Slytherin girls' hearts, he could be decent to Vincent. She would try it, she thought, but would not get too emotionally attached to him. She didn't want to be the next on his long line of girls rejected for being "idiotic, flippant cows". _Not_ that she could ever be thought to fit that description. She cared far less about money and breeding than she did about personality and a sense of humour. Bond - _Antony_ - was not doing so well on her own scale. Was she more idiotic than she had thought?  
  
These thoughts flowed one after another, winding their way, knots in the thread of her consciousness as it slipped steadily through her mind. This was the most beautiful time of the day, the most peaceful, the best for contemplation. Xandra raised her gaze from the ground to see how far she was from the castle, and came to a sudden halt. Outlined against the stonework in the growing light was a familiar silhouette, one whose owner she would prefer not to intrude on her morning run, and, she admitted, prefer not to see her when she had just got up, had not yet had her morning shower, and was sweaty, her hair untidy and only loosely tied back.  
  
"Antony!" she called, half to him, half in surprise. She saw him straighten and realised he had been leaning on the wall. She waited for her breathing to slow for a moment, then began to walk towards him. _Why does he have to see me like this?_ She swept some stray strands of hair behind her ear and tried to smile. "Good morning."  
  
"Good morning to you too, Alexandra."  
  
She walked to meet him and said, "If we're together, you may as well call me Xandra."  
  
He smiled, and suddenly looked gentle, soft, even a little adoring. It made a startling difference to his face. When his eyes weren't narrowed, when his mouth wasn't twitching unpleasantly, his eyes were almost, just almost, warm, his expression pleasant.  
  
"You should smile more. It makes you look much nicer." She wondered how many people would dare say that to Antony, but she wasn't scared of him like many people, she just disliked him on principle. Or had, until she realised that there was more than the face he presented to the world.  
  
His smile became wry. "What if I don't want to look nice?"  
  
"You'd probably find you had a lot fewer problems in life if you smiled a little more," she joked.  
  
The smile vanished, to be replaced by an expression which in anyone else, Xandra would have called petulant.  
  
"You don't know anything." His voice was sharp.  
  
"I'm sorry," Xandra replied, somewhat startled. He sighed.  
  
"So am I." He didn't sound like he meant he was sorry for snapping at her. _Sorry for what?_  
  
Neither of them spoke. Xandra, feeling acutely awkward in the silence, searched for something to say.  
  
"Um ... shall we walk?" she managed at last. "It's cold to stand out here."  
  
Antony offered her his hand. "Inside or outside?"  
  
"Inside, I think." They walked, hand-in-hand, to the castle doors. Antony dropped her hand to open the door, then stood aside to let her pass. Flattered, Xandra smiled. "Thank you. Where shall we walk?" Antony shrugged.  
  
"Why don't we let our feet decide?" So they wandered aimlessly, in total silence for some time. Xandra, as she walked, was thinking about the situation and wondering again precisely why she had accepted his offer. She had a shameful feeling that it had a lot to do with being completely charmed that the boy she had heard sighed over and discussed in depth by her yearmates many times had asked her out. She, tomboy Xandra, whose blood did not run blue. He had asked _her_ above the aristo-snobs. Yes, she had told him she'd think about it, and yes, she had done so, but in the end, she had only even considered it because she was so flattered.  
  
The other question was why he would be interested in her. She wasn't rich. She wasn't aristocratic. She was fairly intelligent and a good Quidditch player who always tried out but never made the team (more, she suspected, to do with her breeding and gender than her talent). He was probably going to be one of the top two or three students in the N.E.W.T.s, and was Quidditch captain. He had an old bloodline and a great deal of money. There was a big difference between her and him.  
  
She realised that she knew almost nothing about her new boyfriend. School rumour had it that his father was a Death Eater, and it was well known that he was related to the Malfoys and exceedingly rich, but that was the extent of her knowledge.  
  
"Um," she said, trying to think of how she could ask this question without seeming ... stupid. Or like she only agreed to go out with him for his money or for power or something like that. _But didn't I?_ she thought involuntarily. "Tell me a bit about yourself." It sounded lame, even to her ears.  
  
"What can I say?" He shrugged. "My name is Antony Julius Bond, I play Quidditch and read in my spare time, and my favourite subject is Arithmancy."  
  
_Well, that's a start. I have his middle name.  
  
_"My name is Alexandra Diane Carson, and I like flying, reading, and chess. My favourite subject is Astronomy. I have a younger brother called Chris, who is in fourth year." She sought for something else to say. "My parents are Diane and Mark, and my father works as an executive for Penna Potions in London." She paused, thinking, then said, "I don't have any pets, but my parents promised me an owl for my seventeenth birthday ...." Antony's face twitched at her last comment, and her voice drifted off. Xandra felt slightly embarrassed, as though she had said something wrong, although she couldn't see how. She stopped walking and watched Antony. He took a few more steps and then stopped, apparently thinking what to do or say.  
  
"What's your opinion on pureness of blood? What about family ties?"  
  
_What an odd question. At least, in the context of the conversation, it's odd._ But what sort of a relationship was it going to be if she couldn't answer a question, even if it was such a divisive one. Was he going to judge her on her answer? Well, if he was going to judge her on her opinions, best be rid of him right off.  
  
"Not the same as yours," she said, defiant.  
  
"Indeed?" He crossed his arms across his chest and looked at her with one eyebrow raised. _Man, he's fit_. Xandra's brain was once again thinking exactly what it wanted to with no reference to her. "Pray share."  
  
She raised her head, shaking back a few wisps of hair, and stared him in the eye. "I believe that who _you_ are, not who your parents are, is what matters. I'm not an aristocrat. All my family's money has been earned through hard work. In fact, I think that the whole thing is rather pathetic."  
  
"Does that work both ways?"  
  
"What do you mean, both ways?"  
  
"I mean, if someone's from an old, rich family, do you think any less of them than someone who's not?"  
  
"Of course not!" But the question made her feel slightly uncomfortable. She tried not to judge on family, but she felt that the likeliness of someone being a blood-snob was increased by being from a pureblood family. Did that prejudice her in her opinions? She hoped not.  
  
"In that case ...." Antony started walking again. Xandra caught up with him and walked by his side. He spoke in a matter-of-fact tone: "I'm Draco Malfoy's second cousin on my father's side. My mother ..." He paused. "Oh, forget it."  
  
"No," Xandra replied, amazed that she had managed to get him to open up, "I really want to know."  
  
"I'm Sirius Black's cousin, too," he said, defiant, as if he were daring her to judge him on his family.  
  
"The mass murderer?" she exclaimed before she could stop herself.  
  
"No, the other one." She stopped walking and stood, staring at him, hurt by his sarcasm.  
  
"I'm sorry." This time, she thought he meant for what he had said.  
  
"It's obviously a sore point," Xandra replied. "I shouldn't have reacted the way I did."  
  
He sighed, glanced over at her, then looked at the floor. His voice was, as a result, slightly muffled as he spoke. "My father is dead. I live alone with my mother, a cat, an owl, and a house-elf."  
  
"I'm sorry," she began to say, but he cut her off.  
  
"Don't be. From all I've heard, he wasn't a very nice person."  
  
"That doesn't stop you, as his son, needing him."  
  
Antony looked up, scowling at her. "He was a Death Eater! He went insane and died in Azkaban after receiving a life sentence for murder!"  
  
Xandra didn't know what to say. She walked in silence for a while, then finally stammered, "I-I'm sorry, I just thought it - it must be hard not ..." Her voice trailed off.  
  
"It is." Antony sighed. "Can I tell you something?" Xandra nodded. He took a breath, and, chewing his lower lip, said, "One of my earliest memories is of coming in from the garden incredibly proud of myself because I'd just caught a Flobberworm. I went running to my father to show him what I had. He was so proud of me, he fussed over the Flobberworm, then sent me to show my mother. She screamed and forbade me to ever bring one into the house again." He stopped and stared at the wall, arms wrapped across his chest, hugging himself. "Yes, he was a Death Eater." Antony shook his head. "But he was a kind, loving father and ... and I need him so much." Xandra noticed the change in tense and his tone and pitied Antony. She couldn't imagine not having a father. She didn't say anything, but put a hand on his arm in what she hoped was a reassuring way. He turned to face her and she saw that a tear had escaped one eye and left a salt track down his cheek. "You know, you're the first person I've ever told that to." His gaze was intense and under it Xandra felt a little uncomfortable. Not because she was afraid of him, but because of the amount of emotion in his face. He took her hand and turned to face her, cupping her chin in one hand.  
  
He moved to kiss her, but she turned her head away.  
  
"Sorry, I just ..." They stood there, not meeting each other's eyes. Xandra mumbled her apology again. She didn't know why she had turned away, apart perhaps from her insistence that she not get emotionally involved. But she already was. She realised there was so much more to Antony than he would ever let people believe.  
  
Maybe she didn't want to kiss him because she didn't trust herself.  
  
He shrugged. "I'll live."  
  
The silence was uncomfortable. Xandra glanced at her watch.  
  
"I guess I'd better go have a shower. Will I see you at breakfast?" she forced herself to say.  
  
"Sorry? Oh, sure," he said. "See you there." He sighed and gave her a forced half-smile, as if trying to reassure her that he really was all right. She smiled back, but as she made her way to the Slytherin dormitories, her mind and emotions were far from settled.

"Bond." Antony was sitting up before the voice had registered with his conscious mind. With the briefest rubbing of his knuckles across his eyes, he cleared sleep from them, and to clear it from his mind took only a few moments longer. Then he became fully aware of the situation. "Bond." Antony pulled back the hangings and glared through the dimness of the room at the figure, barely visible, which stood by his bed.  
  
"There had better be a good reason for this, Vellian," he snarled.  
  
"Get out of bed. The headmaster needs you." Antony bit back the snide remark about the hour of the morning; it had to be around four o'clock, for he had stayed in the common room until the last of his housemates had retreated to their dormitories at one, and then he had read for some time before making any attempt at sleep. It had not come easily, and it must have been at least three before he got to sleep.  
  
"May I at least get dressed?" Antony asked, glaring at Vellian.  
  
"I'll wait outside." Vellian was terser, sharper than usual (which, Antony reflected, was an achievement).  
  
In a few minutes Antony, fully dressed, emerged and swept past Vellian into the common room. Vellian made an exasperated noise and followed him. _It's too early in the morning to have to pretend to be evil_, Antony thought, yawning. He let Vellian take the lead for the sake of pretending to obey his orders to be slightly less unpleasant to the man.  
  
They were met by Professor McGonagall and Raylene Faulkner on the fifth staircase they climbed. Faulkner's hair was tangled and she was blinking sleepily. She muttered something in greeting, but Antony didn't respond. He didn't feel like snapping at her, but felt that if he tried to be civil, it would both not work and surprise Faulkner unkindly considering the hour of the morning.  
  
He was feeling a little less sulky and a little more awake when they reached the headmaster's office and ascended the spiral staircase. The first thing Antony noticed was that Professor Talisen was sitting opposite Dumbledore, a cup in her hand. Antony had never seen her hair down before, but it was. It fell well down her back and Antony thought she must be sitting on it. She was wearing a cloak over a black Muggle shirt and had huge, round, fluffy slippers on. She must also just have got out of bed.  
  
Dumbledore looked up. "Ah, Minerva, Maxwell. Thank you. Take a seat please, Antony, Raylene. Tea?" They obeyed. Antony shook his head, but Faulkner took a cup and added milk. "I am afraid I have bad news." He paused and let the warning sink in. "A sixth-year student, Innis Columbanus, has been expelled this morning and is currently in the custody of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."  
  
Faulkner nearly dropped her cup. "What? Why?"  
  
Antony frowned, staring at Dumbledore's desk as he thought. Columbanus was a Hufflepuff, an Irish pureblood who held radical political views. That was the extent of Antony's knowledge; he only knew that because the Head Girl the previous year had been a Hufflepuff and had, on occasion, vented her frustration and worry at Columbanus's extremist views. From what Antony could remember, Columbanus was of the belief that the leadership of the Druidic world should reside with a more traditionalist leader than that it currently had, one who would not fraternise with Muggles or risk the uniqueness of Druid culture by mixing it with mainstream wizarding culture.  
  
Wait ... Talisen was the ceremonial Head of State of the Druidic world. It was so easy to forget; she didn't seem like a major political player. What had Columbanus done?  
  
Antony had forgotten that Talisen was, in her role as a Hogwarts professor, going incognito, as it were. A memory, something he frequently forgot when in Talisen's presence, surfaced in Antony's mind. Rumours of it went around the school, but as Talisen herself said nothing, they usually subsided. Antony had known from a young age that the dark-haired woman in photographs from his father's school years and his trial as a murderer was the leader of the Druidic people in Ireland. How and why she was spared from her duties to teach at Hogwarts he did not know. He suspected her role was mainly ceremonial and had little to do with the real functioning of Druidic society. But he knew little Druidic lore, and still less about the Merlin, only that though it was hard to reconcile this uncertain yet intelligent woman with the legendary figures of Talisen and Merlin, she was descended of both of them, hence her name and title.  
  
Dumbledore sighed. He looked old. Of course, he _was_ old, but the usual sparkle of his eyes and lightness of his manner were shrouded this morning. "Professor Talisen awoke to find him standing over her with a wand, and was very fortunate to escape a deadly curse."  
  
"He tried to _kill_ her?" Antony exclaimed. "Even seventeen year old Death Eaters wouldn't ...." His voice trailed off when the memory that _he_ was a seventeen year old Death Eater hit him. Still, he couldn't think of anyone his age he knew who would try to kill someone for politics ....  
  
Or could he? Would he, given the chance, kill a Death Eater?  
  
Would he?  
  
_No._ He would incapacitate them and call in the Ministry.  
  
"That's ... I can't believe it!" Faulkner said, obviously stunned.  
  
"Unfortunately, Miss Faulkner, there are people who will do anything for what they believe in."  
  
"Columbanus is a member of a group called the Druidic Traditionalist League, which believes the Talisen family has lost touch of things," Talisen said quietly. "I don't understand their beliefs, but I've always known they were a danger. The risk from them was part of the reason the Druidic Council let me accept a job at Hogwarts. If I lived here, even though I'd regularly Apparate back to Ireland to attend Council meetings, they thought I would be in less danger. I never imagined a _student_ ...."  
  
She didn't need to finish what she was saying. Antony knew what she meant. But he was beginning to realise that there was far, far greater evil in the world than he had imagined even a year ago. It was not a pleasant realisation. 


End file.
